


Across the Stars

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Romance, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, a grab bag of genres and prompt fills, starring two idiots in love, written out of chronological order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2018-12-23 21:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 33,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11998635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: Short prompts and fills from Tumblr featuring my Jedi Knight and Theron Shan.





	1. Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> All of these were originally posted on Tumblr (http://greyias.tumblr.com), but I'm trying to catch up on my cross-posting here. These are not necessarily in chronological order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - ☯ “That’s not how the Force works!”

The cold wind whipped around them, ice and snow crunching underfoot as they worked their way through the Icewall Ravine towards the coordinates to the shield bunker. Theron tried not to glare at the Alliance’s commander as she stretched her bare arms out, seeming to relish in the feeling as Theron tried to pull his jacket around himself tighter.

“I hate Belsavis,” he said miserably.

“I thought you hated Tatooine?”

“I do not _like_ Tatooine,” he corrected, “but at least it’s temperature stays consistent! Consistently hot but at least you could pack one set of clothes for it!”

“You’re wearing what you wore then. What you always wear.”

“And your point is?”

“That perhaps red leather jackets aren’t all-weather apparel?”

“Leave the jacket out of this,” he muttered irritably. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” came the serene reply, “why would I be?”

“Because the one time you actually ditch the armor and cape it’s for something sleeveless. And it’s _snowing_!”

“You of all people should not complain about lack of wardrobe changes.”

“My toes are freezing through my boots!”

“I’m sure they’re fine.”

“How are you not an icicle?”

“The Force keeps me warm,” she replied serenely.

“That’s not—” he sputtered. “The Force is not a space heater, woman!”

She arched a delicate brow at him. “Are you _sure_ about that?”

He glared at her for a few long seconds before sticking his icy glove right on the back of her exposed neck. She sucked in a tiny breath, teeth chattering slightly, and he watched as goosebumps spread across her flesh. She flashed him a wild eyed look.

“Why’d you—”

“You little liar!”

“Well, I never—”

“You were pretending to be warm, weren’t you?”

“I…” Her nose wrinkled, cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and cold before she spun on her foot and continued to march towards their goal. “I’m a master of the Force, and know—”

“You do realize you’re shivering uncontrollably right now, don’t you?”

“No, I’m not. Shut up.”

“You just don’t want to admit that you didn’t read the weather briefing, huh?”

“Well… neither did you!”

“All that talk about my jacket… you actually want to wear it don’t you?”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“It _is_ nice and warm.”

She flashed him a challenging look. “In that case it can keep you company while you stay outside as K’krohl and I take out the Shield Bunker.”

“Is it too late to offer a timeshare on the jacket?”


	2. Trapped!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> I wish you would write a fic where... Theron, the alliance commander and Master Satele are stuck stranded together

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

“I thought you had been performing maintenance on this shuttle, Theron.” 

There was no hint of accusation of wrongdoing in the Grandmaster’s tone. It was just a simple statement on what had occupied his time since they had parted ways after the joint holocall to Saresh. And it was _true_ , he had been performing maintenance and flight checks on the shuttle they were all currently stuck in. That just wasn’t… _all_ that had occupied his time.

As Satele tried again to make the jammed door open, Theron sent a wild look to the shuttle’s final passenger whose eyes had about tripled in size and cheeks were rapidly starting to turn the color of the gas giant visible just outside the viewport of the stalled shuttle. For the first time in his life, he wished for the power of the Force for the sole purpose of being able to have a soundless conversation. He wasn’t exactly sure that was _possible_ , but he would have been willing to give it a try so that he could very clearly tell her to stop fidgeting nervously, look literally _anywhere else_ than the bunk that hadn’t been properly stowed away into the wall, and in general stop acting like she had just been caught with her hand in the proverbial sweet-sand cookie jar. He was half surprised she hadn’t blurted out a confession of their less-than-ideal-Jedi activities the moment her promotion to Battlemaster had been announced.

What the hell had be been thinking bringing her back here when she was so obviously terrible at keeping a secret? Oh wait, he hadn’t been thinking with his _brain_. And his mother inviting herself along hadn’t been part of the plan for his suave farewell to his Jedi paramour. Neither had been the shuttle breaking down. Or the doors jamming effectively trapping them inside. He honestly had no idea how any of this had happened. And he was pretty sure the air refresher had shut itself off because it was starting to get uncomfortably warm in here, which he wouldn’t have minded (it wouldn’t have been the first time he had shed his clothes because of the ambient temperature) except for fact that _his mother_ was stuck in here.

“Really, Theron, what kind of maintenance were you performing?”

The mighty Hero of Tython, Slayer of Emperors and Champion of the Downtrodden, let out a tiny, pained squeak. She covered her mouth, but it was too late, as Satele turned around to address her most revered champion.

“I’m sorry, did you say something Master Highwind?”

Behind Satele, Theron shook his head vehemently, but the blonde’s eyes just widened even further, practically saucers as she looked her boss in the eye. “I… I…”

“I could have sworn I heard you say—“

“NO!” 

Theron bolted upright, forehead cracking against the low-hanging support beam some genius had decided to place the sleep couch next to. The deep hum of the _Dauntless’_ s hyperdrive engines thrummed in time to the pounding in his head. 

This was the third variation on that nightmare scenario since they had left Yavin IV. Before his misadventures on the Ascendent Spear, his anxiety dreams used to involve forgetting to put on his pants during a mission. Apparently the cure for nightmares was living it out in reality. He was going to take a pass on this particular one coming to fruition. Across the room, his mother arched an eyebrow at him as he rubbed the spot where a bruise would definitely be forming later.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Did you realize you talk in your sleep?”

Luckily the curse that slipped free was muffled by the thump of him falling gracelessly from the sleep couch as he tried to straighten himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said ‘how long is it to Coruscant again?’” he lied.

“Two weeks.”

Damn it, this was going to be a long trip.


	3. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for a bit of fluff from a prompt list featuring kisses as a distraction from storyline stuff. I did my best to oblige! Set between KOTET and the War for Iokath.

It was a two fingers of whiskey kind of night. Theron had spent nearly ten hours bent over a data terminal without a break, trying to backtrace a signal he’d picked up from the latest uprising that the Alliance had gotten tangled up in. The new command center for the Fleet wasn’t even complete and the bottom feeders were already starting to come out of the woodwork. It made sense, there was bound to be skirmishes in a power vacuum, but there was a small portion of him that had wanted more than just a day or two of rest. After everything the Alliance had just gone through, after everything that it’s _Commander_ had been through, a small break from the constant, never-ending battle would have been nice. She of all people deserved a vacation from the unending grind, and he could have tagged along. Maybe.

But the work never stopped, which was good for his boredom — less so for his stress levels. He’d never really been one to take a break, and he’d always used his vacation time at the SIS for other things (usually keeping a certain disreputable Twi’lek alive when she got in too deep, despite her best efforts to make him mind his own business). He frowned and took another sip. It had been a while since he had looked in on Teff’ith. Over a decade had passed since they had struck up their, well, friendship seemed to be a little generous of a term but he had nothing else – and she hadn’t changed much. Maybe she threatened to stick a vibroblade between his ribs a bit less these days, but that was probably because he hadn’t been able to keep as close tabs on her since the start of the Alliance. Who knew what mess she was involved in these days. Not much of a big brother figure, was he?

He’d have to try and make more of an effort to check in. People that he still considered family were in short supply, and it was bad form to not keep in touch. Yeah, he’d do that. Just as soon as he caught a break.

The stream of intelligence on his datapad scrolled on endlessly. A pocket of unrest near Tatooine. The White Maw were getting bolder, spreading from Hoth to more sectors in the Outer Rim. Disturbed murmurings from Port Nowhere about a new criminal organization he’d never heard of. Pockets of violence spread across the Galaxy at random. And yet something about it all didn’t seem completely random. Maybe he’d been staring at a screen too long today, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something. Something much larger.

The cushions of the couch dipped as someone sat next to him, and the scent of Velanie flowers and juna berries tickled his nose. Hylo had recently swapped out the shampoo they were bringing in, complaining that she was tired of the Trillium soap stinking up her cargo bay. He didn’t mind the change for one. Out of a reflex built on routine, Theron wrapped an arm around the Jedi as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. His eyes never left the screen of the datapad, even as her still slightly dampened hair soaked into his shirt. Absently he took another sip of whiskey, balancing the datapad at an odd angle as his eyes continued to take in the never ending stream of text. He felt her hand briefly brush against the fingers he had wrapped around his glass.

“Long day?” she asked quietly.

He nodded absently, pulling up a separate intelligence briefing on Tatooine. They had personnel in that area. They probably could handle it — but it wouldn’t hurt to check in. Get a report from someone with eyes on the situation directly. It was late there, though. Probably could wait until morning.

“When was the last time you took a break?”

“This is a break. I don’t drink on the chrono.”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“I’m a good liar,” he corrected absently. “It’s part of the job description.”

“Not with me.”

“Which is why I’m not lying. If I were working I’d still be at a data terminal.”

She let out a small noise of frustration, but fell quiet again. Most nights she’d have a datapad of her own as they both juggled for a comfortable reading position while still keeping physical contact. Neither of them were very demonstrative by nature, but they’d fallen into a comfortable routine since the formation of the Alliance. Share a cup of caf after meditation most mornings and settle into intelligence reports into the long hours of the night. Her lack of one right now was the closest he could give her to an actual break. Which was starting to seem like a mistake as she squirmed on the couch, unable to get comfortable. He did his best to ignore it, pulling up a different report. 

The situation on Hoth looked like a powder keg ready to blow. He’d need to talk to Aygo, see if they could spare some troops from the relief efforts. As he pored over the details, that nagging feeling cropped up again. He stopped, went back and re-read it again, but nothing jumped off the screen at him. Just a vague sense of unease. He washed it away with another swig of whiskey.

“What are you worried about?”

“What?” he asked absently. “I’m not worried about anything. Just reading.”

The huff she let out this time was much louder and the weight resting against his shoulder disappeared as she sat up. He backed out of the report, pulling up the HoloNet so he could make a quick cross-reference to see if there was anything about this Crimson Fang organization. He was in the midst of typing out his search when he felt a soft kiss press to his cheek. He blinked, pausing as he forgot the next word in his query. The lips pressing against his cheek quirked up into a ghost of a smile, and he felt another soft peck.

His fingers hovered over the keys, trying to regain his train of thought. The cursor blinked up at him, waiting far more patiently than the blonde woman who planted a series of feather soft kisses that traced his jawline. He let the datapad drop to the table and carefully set his glass of whiskey down next to it before turning to face her as gracefully and poised as he could.

“Fine, datapad down. Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you’d tell me what was bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me.” He heaved a sigh that was most definitely not on the dramatic side. “I just got a little sidetracked today and let the reports pile up.”

Her eyes crinkled as she gave him a sad smile, her thumb absently brushing across the deep crease in his brow. “You have twice as much whiskey in that glass as you normally do and are on the way to making this frown permanent.”

“I thought you said wrinkles looked distinguished.”

“ _You_ said that. I said I didn’t care if you looked like a shriveled Dressellian prune.”

“You know just what to say to a guy to make him feel sexy.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Her cheeks flushed pink, lips briefly pressing together in consternation. “Theron, you’ve fallen asleep on this couch for the last two nights surrounded by a pile of datapads.”

“So I’m more than just a _little_ behind on reports.”

“Is that all it is?”

He frowned, eyes briefly straying to the discarded datapad on the table, the search field still empty and waiting. The ghost of a notion that he was missing something still lingered in the back of his mind. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

“What is?”

“I just can’t help but feel I’m not seeing something,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He stopped mid-motion, seeing that she’d adopted his perturbed expression from earlier. “Forget about it, I’m probably jumping at shadows. Gotten too used to chasing after the next mission.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Isn’t there? I’m sitting here lost in the HoloNet instead of taking advantage of us being alone, _truly alone_ , for the first time since before we ever even heard the name Zakuul.”

A flicker of a shadow crossed her face at the memory of the unwanted interloper in her head, who had been trying to hollow her out from the inside. Without even thinking about it he reached out, laying a hand on hers and giving it a small squeeze. A small smile chased the shadow away as she dropped her gaze, absently running the fingers of her other hand over his knuckles. He’d forgotten how nice that felt.

“After so long, the quiet in my mind is a little odd. Not unwelcome, but I sometimes don’t know what to do with it.”

“We both kind of got used to working around him,” he admitted quietly. “Do something long enough, you get accustomed to it. Can get too comfortable in a routine, even if it’s not the best one for you.”

“And if you do?”

“Hm?”

“Get too comfortable. Get stuck. What do you do then?”

“Something unexpected.”

“Like what—”

He gave a quick tug to their clasped hands, yanking her off balance so that she was sprawled across his lap and captured her mouth in a breathless kiss. She was still for a brief moment, before she responded in kind, surging forward and pressing her body into him. He wasted no time, scooping her up as he stood, shuffling them both in the direction of the bed.

“Stairs,” she murmured against his lips, moments before they would trip.

“Sorry,” he replied, slowing just enough so they didn’t wind up a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. “Hard to see.”

“You could always stop,” she let out a small gasp as he began to nibble on her ear, “and watch where you’re going.”

“Not a chance,” he muttered. “ _You_ use the Force. That’s what it’s for.”

“That’s not an appropriate use of—”

“Live a little,” he said, “we’re being unexpected. Remember?”

“I am not using the Force as a homing beacon for the bed.”

“Fine,” he sighed melodramatically, “you give me no choice then.”

Without warning he scooped her off her feet, eliciting a tiny gasp before she let out a quiet giggle. He flashed her a smirk, quickly crossing the rest of the expanse before unceremoniously tossing her smaller form on the bed. The sound she let out then was far less delighted, and bordered on indignant.

“Oh no, what a tragedy.” He shook his head gravely as she flashed him a look. “If only I had had a map to know where I was going—”

“Oh, shut up,” she said with a roll of her eyes, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him down next to her.

Theron happily complied with her request, as there was far more creative ways to tease her and bring a blush to those cheeks than with sarcasm alone. He nibbled at her throat gently, deciding he liked her tiny gasps to the indignant huff anyway. As he got lost in her arms, whatever had been bothering him was completely forgotten. Along with the datapad, the reports, and the half-drunk glass of whiskey.


	4. Anniversary Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were talking about relationship headcanons, and someone asked "What kind of gift do you think Theron would give to her as an anniversary gift and vice versa? :D" and uh, my reply kind of got out of hand.

Theron Shan considers himself one of the greatest spies the Republic has ever seen. He’s snuck into so many places that the Empire was _so_  convinced were locked up tight – and managed to acquire intel and items no one thought possible. Hell, he even managed to acquire a Black Cipher right out from under their noses and they never realized it. So when he looks at the calendar, and suddenly realizes it’s a year to the day when he first said “this feels like destiny” to a certain Jedi Knight, he reacts completely appropriately and just like the adult he was raised to be.

Which is to say, he freaks the kriff out.

A year? It’s been a whole year? Time is supposed to pass by much slower, and when did Theron Shan, walking SIS disaster cleverly disguised as a human being actually form a long-lasting relationship? Crap, he doesn’t know what to do. What does the HoloNet say? Maybe he can find a manual somewhere. Wait, the traditional first year anniversary gift is flimsi? What does that even mean? Is he supposed to write something on a sheet and just hand it to her? That’s called a letter and he sucks at those too. Okay, the HoloNet is officially useless – it’s fine. It’s fine, he just has to step up his game. Maybe if he can remove every single calendar on base. That will work. Can’t have an anniversary if there’s no calendar, right?

Okay, that’s probably the reaction in the wrong direction. He’s an adult, he can do this. So, he sets off to find the person who seems to be in the most successful, stable relationship. Unfortunately that person is Hylo Visz, and she has mysteriously disappeared. But her other half is there, and out of desperation Theron asks what an appropriate anniversary present would be, and immediately regrets it when the conman grins.

“Have you thought about–?”

“If the next words out of your mouth are [’Skytrooper Helmet’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9661163) just keep in mind that I know how to kill someone without attracting any suspicion.”

“Well, then I’ve got nothing.”

Theron starts to wonder about the long-term chances of success in the Alliance if one of the resident experts on adult relationships is Gault Rennow. They probably should all just pack up and go home now. He passes by Koth and Lana who ask what’s wrong.

Theron Shan - Super Spy - Worst Sabaac Face ever.

He briefly considers asking for their advice – they’re almost reasonable, mature, sensible people – and then remembers that Koth will still on occasion shove random objects off counters if someone flirts with Lana. Yeah, they’re out. He walks away without a word.   
  


* * *

  
“Anniversary gift?” Jorgan asks. “I don’t know, our go-to gift in Havoc Squad was always ammo. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like making sure you can easily blow away an enemy target from fifty meters.”

Theron’s eyes widen at the mention of the ‘L’ word, makes a strangling noise, and just slips away to the sound of the Cathar’s deep chuckle.   
 

* * *

  
“Oh, a token of affection for your paramour! What a delightful tradition! Why, I’m honored that you would bring me in on such an occasion, Agent Shan. This reminds me of when I was still working for the Hutt Cartel, and Bareesh needed–Theron, where are you going? I have just the thing that would work. If you just gave it a moment’s consideration, then you would realize that the Commander would love a time-released capsule of–well now that’s just rude. Why ask for my advice and then leave while I’m talking? Very well, I must return to creation anyway.”   
  


* * *

  
“For my cyar’ika, I always started the night with an ori'skraan. Then after the  hetikles, I would present her a dinui. Last one was the teeth of a hssiss.” Torian recites the old ritual with a fond, faraway look in his eye.

“Uh. Huh.” Theron nods. “So, what you’re saying is… I should go slay a dark side dragon?”

“Kell drake might be more your speed.”

Theron almost proudly declares that he can kill a hellish lizard steeped in the dark side of the Force if he _really_ wants to, but stops himself just in time. “Kind of running low on time to go big game hunting.”

“Get her a pretty ruus then.” Torian shrugs. “And yourself a day planner so you don’t forget again.”

“Did someone say planner?”

“No, Vette, no!”

Theron starts to run, but the Twi’lek easily keeps pace.

“Oh, wait! Did I hear you right? (Of course I did, I was eavesdropping!) It’s your anniversary with the Commander. Ooh! I could plan a party!”

“It’s in a few hours, Vette.”

“I’m great at last minute shindigs!”

“I was actually thinking something a little more intimate.”

“Ew, I don’t want to hear about that!”

“Well, I wasn’t inviting you to it!”

“Yeah, the Commander doesn’t really seem like she’d be into that anyway. Then again, it’s always the quiet ones–”

This is why he doesn’t ask people for help. Or anything. After he finally manages to convince Vette, that no, he does not want to plan a surprise orgy for the Commander (and he’s a little perturbed she latched onto that idea so quickly and ran with it), he finally manages to get some peace at a lone data terminal in the War Room. He’s most definitely not burying his face into his arms as he tries to think of anything that might make sense. None of the suggestions from today work for Grey in the slightest. She’s a Jedi, and doesn’t need ammo. Although now he’s wondering if Jorgan was just yanking his chain. Damn Cathar. And aside from… uh, whatever else Torian was suggesting, Theron is certain if he shows up with the carcass of some animal she might burst into tears, or you know, something less dramatic but still just as sad. And shiny rocks and jewels also aren’t exactly her thing. (No, because that would be _easy_.)

She likes the souvenir skyshell trinket he picked up at a market for five credits because it matched her eyes. And traditional Dantooine tea he bought once because he thought it might remind her of home. Or the fact that she still wears that random scrap of leatheris he gave her as a “friendship bracelet” on Manaan to shut her up about it. And when he recalls that he’s wondering when he’ll be nominated for Boyfriend of the Year Award.

Anytime he sees something that he thinks she might like, he always just, you know, _gives_  it to her. No point in hanging on to it for a specific date. Not that those piddly trinkets really would be appropriate for this kind of thing. Then again, exactly what is the appropriate gift to say “thanks for putting up with me for a whole year”? Stars, he’s horrible at this.

He’s just about to resign himself to the fact that he’s about to blunder into a major milestone without anything to show for it, when he feels a slight nudge at his knee. He lifts his head and T7-01 lets a soft questioning trill.

“No, no, I’m fine, buddy.”

The next series of beeps sound very doubtful of that.

“Okay, yes, maybe it is something. But it’s not Alliance business. Nothing to worry over.”

The astromech’s next whistle is long, and has a knowing air about it.

“Yeah, it’s, about her… it’s just, kind of a special occasion. And I’m at a loss. You would think I’d know her well enough to think of something to get her. Something nice, special, but my mind just keeps going blank. She’s just, so, well, y’know…”

If Theron didn’t know any better, he would think the sharp series of beeps are meant to be the droid equivalent of laughter. Great, just great, he’s now being laughed at by an astromech. Teeseven gets over whatever passes for digital humor and twirls around excitedly.

“Well… I suppose you _have_  known her the longest. Yeah, I’ll take any suggestion at this point. What do you have in mind?”

It’s a _long_  series of trills, beeps, and whirls before Theron starts to get an idea of where the little guy is going with all of that, and he can’t help but smile.

“You’re a _genius_.”  
  


* * *

  
“Well, _there_  you are,” Theron says a little accusatory to a harried Hylo Visz as he finally strolls up to the Commander’s quarters. Technically they’re more or less his too at this point, he just hasn’t moved the last of his stuff over. Somehow that all seems so _official_.

“Let me guess,” the Mirialan says, “you needed help picking out an anniversary gift. On the _day_ of your anniversary.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Well, first I’ve met you.”

“Okay, fair enough. And second?” 

“Let’s just say, you two deserve each other more than anyone else I’ve ever met,” the smuggler says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’m half surprised I don’t need to remind you both how to tie your shoes.”

“Well, see, that’s why I never wear anything with laces.”

“At least you try to make my life easier on _occasion. This is the point where I leave you two to pretend like you have the slightest clue what you’re doing.”_

__

“We’re leading the Alliance!” Theron reminds her.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” She gives Theron a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Have fun.”

Considering the last time Hylo offered help in the romance department Theron wound up fighting in a Zakuulan arena in an attempt to free a bunch of slaves, he’s starting to wonder what fresh horrors lay beyond those durasteel doors. Oh well, only one way to find out. 

“Did a bomb go off in here and you forget to tell me?” he asks, cautiously stepping into the room, carefully stepping over a mound of what might be ration packs. “Or is this a new decorating scheme? Balmorran Warzone from the looks of it.”

“Theron, _hi_ ,” Grey says nervously, trying to shove a large crate out of sight. “What a surprise to see you.”

“I _live_ here.”

“Right,” she says slowly, cheeks quickly turning a lovely shade of red, “there is that.”

His eyebrow arches as he sees a small crate filled with a bunch of schmaltzy knick-knacks. Some Voss courting jewelry, a Hutt affection token, Corellian love stones, and stars, one of those annoying Tashelin serenading droids. He’s about to make some wiseacre remark, but from the haphazard way everything is stacked up he’s guessing this is a reject pile of sorts.

“So… whatcha been doing?”

“I have a confession to make,” she says with a sigh, and gives up trying to shove the crate next her out of sight. “With everything that has been going on, I… might have forgotten the significance of today until Teeseven mentioned it.”

“That sneaky little astromech!” Theron whirls around as if the little bot will be there, but the hall is completely empty. “Left me hanging _all day_ and then pretends to swoop in like a little hero at the last minute!”

“What?” she frowns at him, and then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I should have remembered that it was a year ago that we began…”

She flushes, trailing off as she can’t quite come up with the right words, and his innate need to tease her melts away. 

“A new chapter?” he suggests helpfully.

“That works.” Her face lights up with a smile so bright it’s almost blinding. “Hylo says we’re hopeless, by the way.”

“She might be right.” He carefully navigates the minefield of several discarded and rejected gifts. “In the spirit of honesty, I kind of have spent the entire day doing something similar. Just, uh, with a little less mess.”

“I couldn’t pick a gift,” she says helplessly, “none of them seemed… right.”

Theron can’t help the quiet laugh as he pulls her into a hug. “What, am I so hard to shop for?”

“Yes,” she huffs, “you are.”  
  
“Wait… is that an _entire_   _crate_ of Gree nanite paste? How did Hylo even find that much?”

“I was told not to ask,” Grey says quickly, “and what do you even _use_  that stuff for?”

“That has to cost a small fortune!”

“I’m sending it back,” she assures him. “I was afraid it was too extravagant. Giving gifts isn’t exactly a common practice among my Order, but even that seemed like it might have been overboard.”

“Then what is all of this?”

“Hylo was getting a little frustrated by the end of the day,” Grey shrugs lightly, “I think she was hoping to overwhelm me into choosing them all so she could leave.”

“Oh? So did you pick?” he asks curiously.

She sighs. “I did, but I’m afraid it’s not much. You can have the crate of paste if you prefer.”

“Why don’t you show me it anyway?” he asks gently. “Let me decide.”

She gives him a look, like she’s expecting him to start cracking jokes, but leads them over to the table at the far end of the room where a simple set of comet-stone glasses sit inside of a box, set next to a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve. Single blend, thirty year. _Very_  nice indeed.

Her head cocks to the side as she studies it, worrying her lip between her teeth. “It should be more personal. I thought if I could get something from Rishi where we first–”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You have enough to worry about. Don’t add ‘extravagant gift giving’ to it. Besides, I have all I need right here with me.”

He emphasizes his point by wrapping his arms around her, and a flush rises from her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he says without a hint of hesitation. “Besides, you haven’t seen mine yet. This makes it look a little… sad.”

“Theron,” she says with a hint of exasperation, “I’m sure it’s very nice.”

“Yeah, but it’s not thirty year old Corellian whiskey nice.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small holoprojector, starting to feel a little self-conscious. It had certainly _seemed_  like a good idea after hearing Teeseven chatter on. “I’ll do better next year.”

That gets an arched eyebrow. “That almost sounds like a commitment.”

“It is. I’m not going anywhere.”

The flush in her cheeks darkens, and to try and distract from her reaction, she flicks on the holo. Two images flicker up side-by-side. The first is taken from a distance, of her standing side by side with his mother, and the rest of her old crew while accepting their Cross of Glory medals. The second is from her first official speech as Commander, standing tall with the rest of the senior staff ringed around her. Her fingers lightly trace all of the figures of her friends – old and new.

“Where you’ve been. Where you’re going.” It sounds lame when he says it aloud.

“Theron, this is…”

“Yeah,” he winces, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She blinks up at him, and he swears there might be a slight shimmer in her eyes. “This is… I… haven’t seen their faces in so long… I was starting to forget… thank you.”

The words are soft, but the emotion laced behind them make a small lump form in his throat. Apparently he owes that sneaky little droid some thanks. 

“It’s my pleasure. Always.” He manages to swallow past that small lump as he presses his lips against her forehead. “Happy anniversary.”


	5. A Little Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt fill: Having their hair washed by the other for the disaster spy and smol sad Jedi D: because 5.4 didn't happen.
> 
> This is technically a follow-up to a previous story, "Smoke and Sand"(found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822719), but mostly stands on its own.

“It’s _everywhere_.”

Theron laughed. He couldn’t help himself, as he had never heard the great and mighty Hero of Tython sound so petulant and annoyed. She shot him a glare as she awkwardly tried to shake out the hood on her armor. A few grains of sand flew out before she realized that the action wasn’t very effective and was just transferring the mess to the floor.

“Don’t laugh.” Her tone was bordering on a whine. “I’m pretty sure it got into my under-armor.”

Theron just quirked a brow as he shucked off his boots, trying to ignore the gritty sensation of sand between his toes. “Sand tends to do that.”

“Yes, well,” she huffed as she gave up her attempts with her hood and opted to just unclasp and shed her outer-armor, “it’s been chafing ever since we left Tatooine.”

He made a small noise of agreement as he kicked off his socks, watching them land somewhere near the vicinity of his boots and gloves. For a moment he considered bending over to pick them up and be the gracious houseguest that Ngani Zho had raised him to be, but abandoned that notion as one of his many bruises twinged. He’d get them later. His jacket had been carefully hung up on a chair, which was a good first step. Theron would address the rest of his mess in a bit, but first he needed a shower to wash off all this damn sand.

Her heavy caped armor landed on the floor with a loud thunk and she began to work on freeing herself from the heavy boots and gauntlets. “This is going to take forever to get out.”

“Haven’t you _been_ to Tatooine before?” he asked tiredly.

“Yes,” she said peevishly.

“You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve had to deal with this.”

She shot him a dark look. “Well, usually _someone_ doesn’t dump fistfuls of sand on top of my head!”

“Says the woman who dropped an entire handful down the back of my shirt.”

“That’s… you—you started it!”

He shoved himself to his feet and headed towards the refresher, suppressing a grimace as the motion pulled at the large welt forming between his shoulder blades where some of the debris of the destroyed canons had hit him. “Well, petty retaliation is the Jedi way, right?”

Her mouth flopped open as she made an inarticulate noise of indignation, and he couldn’t suppress the smirk at seeing her perfect composure slip. His amusement didn’t seem to help her mood any. “It’s not funny!”

“No, of course not,” Theron said, pausing at the door to the refresher, “sand _is_ the greatest challenge we face in our time.”

“You are not taking this seriously.”

“Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“It’s not funny.” Her lower lip protruded and she crossed her arms. “You got sand in my hair.”

“Aw, well that wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” His voice dropped a few octaves. “I could always help get it out if you want.”

Her face scrunched up in honest confusion. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, but pursed his lips together to keep his amusement from bubbling up again. “I’m taking a shower.”

She blinked. “I don’t follow.”

“You could.” He extended a hand out to her. “If you want.”

She frowned, still clearly not understanding his invitation. “Why would I…?”

He just waited, hand outstretched, before her eyes widened slightly and color rushed to her cheeks. Her gaze darted away as she bit her lip, and he just watched quietly. After a few more moments she glanced back up at him and his outstretched hand before hesitantly shuffling forward and accepting it. 

Her fingers curled around his, and the shy, uncertain smile she flashed him caused a small ball of warmth to flare in his gut. His smile in return was probably not nearly as suave as he was hoping for, but tried to ignore that and quietly led the way into the refresher and started the shower.

As the water began to warm up, he carefully peeled off his shirt, the dried sweat and sand making it stick a little. He hadn’t exactly forgotten about the bruises he’d acquired during the mad tumble away from the orbital strike that had nearly obliterated them both, but he was suddenly reminded of how they might look as he heard a quiet gasp behind him.

“Theron, your back!”

“It’s fine.”

“That does not look fine!”

“I’ve had worse,” he assured her.

“Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

“Because it’s not that bad.” She gave him a hard look. “And I _really_ want a shower. Like you said, the sand got _everywhere_.”

“Theron Shan,” she said, exasperation ringing in her voice, “how are you not dead yet?”

“Dumb luck.” He grinned, and couldn’t help pressing a quick kiss into her frown. “And good company.”

“You are impossible.” The deep crease remained, but her lips quirked up into the beginnings of a smile despite herself. “Let me grab a kolto pack at least.”

“Sure thing,” the grin remained as he finished shedding his clothes and opened the door to the now steamy shower, “right after I wash this sand off.”

“Theron—”

He quickly ducked in despite her protests, relishing in the feeling of the spray of hot water over his abused muscles. Being able to take a moment and just _breathe_ after their close encounter earlier today was a luxury in itself. The only thing that would make this better was the company of a certain person who was staring at him a little crossly behind the frosted glass of the shower door.

Theron felt a slight thrill as he watched the muted expression change beyond the door from what was likely frustration to resigned exasperation and saw the remainder of the under-armor stripped off. He honestly tried to suppress the smirk that naturally took up residence on his face as the door opened, but it was difficult.

“Hey there.” He smiled as she looked at him with an air of uncertainty.

“You know that it’s a little crowded in here?”

“Kind of the point.”

That endearing frown returned. “What point?”

He managed to keep the wolfish grin in check (just barely), and instead just ran his hands lightly down her exposed arms, feeling goosebumps rise in their wake. “Have I ever told you how adorable you are?”

“What does that have to do with—?”

He cut her off by capturing the rest of that question in a kiss, the warm water raining down on them. It started soft, just a quick capturing of her lips, but he quickly lost himself in the taste of her as he so often did. Only when the tension drained out of her, and the thrill of her close proximity managed to die down to a manageable roar, did he break away. She swallowed, staring at him with those wide blue eyes that were entirely too easy to get lost in.

“Where were we?” he murmured quietly.

“I… forget.”

“No worries. I remember.” He took that as an invitation to pull her a little closer as the needle jets of the shower continued to rain down on them. Her hair was still pulled up, so he carefully undid the old and familiar strip of leatheris containing her ponytail and loosely tied it around her wrist as her blonde locks fell around her shoulders. His fingers tangled in the bangs that fell in her face, gently brushing them away as color returned to her cheeks.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

With his free hand he grabbed the bottle of shampoo and made a quick lather before he started working it into the fine blond hair. Even soaked, the silky strands slipped through his fingers easily and he gently ran his blunt nails over her scalp and carefully catalogued every reaction. At first her eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly, as if it were a new sensation, before they fluttered shut and she leaned into him slightly. The reaction took him a bit off guard, and he had to force himself to swallow the warm feeling that bubbled up before he finished working the shampoo through every last strand.

By the time he finished she was practically hanging on him, arms looped around his neck as her chest pressed into his (not that he was complaining). It took a few moments before she shook out of her stupor and muzzily blinked up at him. If this was all it took to generate that sort of reaction, he was going to need to invent a few more reasons for her to step into the refresher with him.

“Better?” he asked, hoping that the smug undertone didn’t completely translate.

“Huh?”

“The sand,” he clarified. “All gone now?”

She blinked for a second, before remembering the pretense he had lured her in here under, and then ran one hand through her hair. “Oh, yes.”

“Good,” he couldn’t completely hide the lascivious grin as one of his hands drifted lower down her backside, “need help with any other area?”

“ _Theron_ ,” the scandalized tone was only half-forced, “I’m perfectly capable of bathing myself.”

“Just trying to help.” His feigned innocence was fooling no one.

“You’ve already helped enough,” she said quietly, fingers ghosting over the rapidly purpling bruises on his back and chest. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

The light feeling was chased away as the memories of the blast of the orbital missiles came flooding back, and how close he had come to not having this woman with him right now. The lump that settled in his throat was a little hard to swallow past, and his voice came out a bit rougher than he liked. “Just doing what was necessary.”

“You took the brunt of that blast.” She frowned. “And shielded me from the debris.”

“I…” He dropped her gaze even as he pulled her closer. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Her face softened into a fond expression, tilting his chin back up to where he couldn’t help but look at her. “That goes both ways. You know that, right?”

He couldn’t quite speak past the tight feeling building in chest as she looked at him with that earnest expression and wide blue eyes, and only managed a small nod. Her eyes crinkled up as she flashed him with a bright smile that lit the small ball of warmth in his gut anew. She didn’t say anything further, but grabbed a soapy rag and gently washed away the worst of the sand caked all over him. Her feather light touches across the deep bruises marring his back were almost reverent, and made that damnable lump in his throat start to rise back up.

Theron didn’t know how she managed it, but she had completely derailed his more lewd plans with her gentle ministrations. He didn’t even quite realize that until she’d had him toweled off and laying down on the bed as she was carefully applying kolto to the bruises on his back.

“You don’t play fair,” he murmured quietly. “You gave me some kind of Jedi whammy, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said fondly. “That’d be an inappropriate use of the Force.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” he muttered, trying to fight off a wave of drowsiness as the analgesic affect of the kolto began to kick in.

“Unreasonable paranoia?”

“Sneaky Jedi,” he groused. “You know that this isn’t what I had in mind?”

“I’m sure whatever it was can wait until morning.”

There was no way she was _that_ naive or innocent, but he was far too relaxed and tired to call her on it. Besides, she was right, while it seemed that he couldn’t scratch that particular itch enough, he’d have plenty of opportunities. For now he was content to curl up behind her as the warmth of her pressing in close carried him off into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Just Desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt of "sharing a dessert", which turned into some Shadow of Revan era fluff.

Apparently they were dipping into the Imps rations tonight, if the excessive spice on the main meal was any indication. Whoever was on mess duty must have stubbed their toe and dumped half of the Coalition’s supply of firespice in an attempt to bring some semblance of flavor to the rubbery meat-like substance. He was _mostly_ certain it wasn’t some poor Ginx that had wandered too close to the patrols. (Mostly.) Theron had choked his portion down — beggars couldn’t be choosers, even if his tastebuds may have wanted to claim otherwise. The only bright point of the meal was the pastry someone had managed to scrape together that vaguely reminded him of a Vagnerian canapé. The sugar and fruit combo almost doused the fire that had been set to his tongue.

Next to him, his compatriot pushed the large chunks of the main meal around on her plate, seemingly more intent on rearranging her food than consuming it. It was hard to tell under the heavily spiced sauce, but it was possible the tubers and root vegetables had already been consumed. Theron paused not even halfway through his dessert as he studied her pallid expression, feeling a small pang of sympathy. He gave her foot a slight nudge with his boot, and she started before looking at him.

“It won’t bite back if that’s what you’re afraid of — at least not with anything resembling teeth.” He gave a slight shoulder shrug. “Has quite the kick, though.”

“Oh, no,” she flushed, “it’s not that.”

“Now come on, I’ve tasted rootleaf stew. You can’t tell me this isn’t at least just as edible as that.”

In the flickering firelight he saw her lips twitch as if she was trying to suppress a smile. “The flavor is fine.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” He flashed her a grin. “There’s a difference between heat and flavor.”

“Theron Shan, I do not lie.” Her indigence was only half-forced. “And it’s not very nice to insult a meal that someone spent so much time and energy preparing.”

“Yep, and yet you still haven’t eaten it.”

“I’ve eaten _some_ of it,” she insisted, and then dropped her voice to a mutter, “the vegetables at least.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

“I’m… just trying to work myself up to the rest of it.”

“You know you don’t _have_ to, right?”

“We’re trying to build a spirit of cooperation,” she said miserably, “and I must do my part.”

“Is that so?” The brow arched higher. “By eating food you don’t want?”

“Yes, well, it was easier when I knew I wasn’t being watched.”

“If you didn’t think you were being observed you’d have just chunked it over your shoulder and no one would have been the wiser.”

“ _You_ would have. _I_ am not going to waste perfectly good food.”

“Nope, much better to stare at it.”

Her cheeks puffed out, and he saw her face pinch into a frown. “I—you…”

Theron managed to bite down on the bark of laughter, just barely. “You don’t seriously think that all of your hard work of getting everyone to get along is going to come crumbling down just because you don’t care for the evening meal, do you?”

“No… maybe?”

He pressed his lips together to try and suppress his smile, but raised both of his eyebrows in an expression of disbelief. The firelight cast a warm glow across everything, but he thought he saw extra color rush to her cheeks.

“Sergeant Jax was quite insistent on giving me an extra portion,” she said quietly, “he seemed very pleased with himself. It would be rude to ignore that gesture.”

“You remember his name?” The words were out before Theron could stop himself.

“Of course I do.” She frowned. “You don’t?”

He wasn’t out to make friends with every Imp in camp, no matter what kind of truce they had in place. Especially not after what happened on Rishi. But he didn’t say that aloud, things were still too tense in the camp as they were, so instead he asked, “Which one is Jax?”

“Thick Kaasian accent, light hair, dark eyes.” She frowned. “It’s only polite to learn their names. We are trying to build a truce here.”

Ah, _that_ guy. She had left out his most identifiable feature, the giant chip on his shoulder — which was a lot more noticeable when one was tethered to a data terminal instead of out in the field. _Not_ that Theron was bitter or restless or anything, but he’d had time to observe the inner workings of some of the members of the Coalition. Jax was one of the more bitter holdouts, and seemed to delight in finding petty ways to annoy the various Jedi around camp, even more so than just his Republic trooper counterparts.

Theron shot a look at the miserable looking sergeant, still slopping out rations on the mess line, before returning his focus back to his lovely companion. He was pretty sure was turning an unhealthy shade of green as she stared at the remaining portion of her meal. With a roll of his eyes, he used his fork to spear the largest chunk and plopped it onto his plate.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you from what is clearly horrible torture.”

“I… I can eat it,” she insisted lamely, “I just… have to mentally prepare myself.”

“Next time just tell him you don’t eat meat, you silly woman.” He rolled his eyes. “Although I’m guessing he already knew that.”

“What?” She blinked. “Of course he didn’t.”

While just as varied as most cultures, there was a bit of a stereotype (especially among Imperials) about Jedi compassion extending to their diet. Like most stereotypes, it wasn’t true across the board. That still didn’t stop the worst of Imperial prisons that liked to make a habit of serving their Jedi prisoners of war an almost exclusively carnivorous diet for that reason alone. Theron had a feeling if he looked into Jax’s personnel record, he would have served at least a rotation or two at one of them.

“Uh huh.” Theron scooped a few more pieces off her plate. “Did he laugh when he so helpfully gave you extra?”

“I assumed that was a tic of his,” she said, “and I’m not asking anyone to go out of their way for me. My preferences are my own.”

He spared her a glance, and she seemed caught between indigence and some warmer emotion as he continued to relieve her of the offending pieces of meat on her plate. He’d just wait a few minutes and chunk them at the nearest opportunity. (Maybe at Jax’s head if he could get away with it.) Theron didn’t have any qualms about hurting the non-existent feelings of Imperial idiots trying to play mind games under the guise of a truce. 

“The dessert is just fruit and dough,” he said helpfully. “Not bad actually.”

“I was trying to finish my main meal first.”

“Looks like you just did.” He removed the last rough chunk of mystery meat from her plate. “Lucky you.”

“You did not have to do that.”

“Maybe I’m just hungry,” he said flippantly, “and I don’t feel like getting up and going through the line again.”

“Lazy and a liar,” she mused, a small smile playing at her lips. “Such attractive qualities in a man.”

“I don’t know,” he shot back, “some might even call me irresistible.”

“Who would say that?”

“Who indeed?” He shot her a grin.

She flushed and attempted to hide her reaction by taking a tentative bite from the aforementioned pastry. Her embarrassed expression faded as she chewed, a genuine smile blooming in its place. She nibbled on it slowly, seeming to savor the flavor. It was such a small, silly thing, but something about her clear enjoyment made everything feel just a little bit lighter. The oppressive swelter of the jungle, the thick tension in camp, even Theron’s own restlessness faded for a brief moment.

It was just a stupid, inane feeling, so much so, that when she finished, there was a light clink as almost the entire remainder of Theron’s own dessert wound up on her plate. She looked at him quizzically, and the best he could manage was a small shrug. The smile she flashed him was so bright, it practically lit up the entire night.

He might have returned it with something similar, and they passed the rest of the meal in silence, the flickering flames from the campfire barely illuminating where their fingers lightly intertwined just out of sight.


	7. Subtleties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: ♜: Shoulder rubs for thegingerjedi on Tumblr

Theron winced as the elbow digging into his back elicited a flare of pain. This really wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d accepted the offer of a massage, especially not after being requested to lay down on the bed. His companion's intentions were pure (somehow), actually intent on kneading the tension out of his shoulders, but was it really necessary for her entire body weight into it? He was starting to suspect this was less a massage and more an attempt to pop his arm out of its socket.

“ _Ow_ ,” he said loudly.

“Sorry, it’s just a really tight knot.”

“I thought Jedi were supposed to be gentle and compassionate.”

“It can’t hurt that much.”

“I think your elbow is about to hit my spleen.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Because when I said I liked it rough, this is not what I meant.”

“I’m not _trying_ to be rough,” she said, seemingly oblivious to what he was actually referring to. “You just managed to really work yourself into a state. This knot is hard as a rock.”

There was a very crude response he could have made about the hardness of other things seeing as there was a very attractive and very oblivious woman straddling his naked torso, but Theron Shan was above such things. Okay, that was a lie, he wasn’t above that at all. But sometimes it was best to know your audience, and this one usually seemed to fall on the clueless side when it came to the more subtle aspects of the art of seduction. Sometimes dropping a metric ton of synstone was more effective in getting her attention than his usual methods of flirting.

“How long were you at that data terminal anyway?”

“I forget,” he said lightly, "when did we have breakfast again?”

“ _Theron_ ,” her admonishing tone was punctuated by another deep jab to the knot, “you do realize that you can take a break every now and then?”

He grunted. “I _could_ , but then I’d lose my train of thought.”

“For ten _hours_? What could you be working on that requires that much concentration?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps researching and gathering data since some stubborn Jedi is wanting to infiltrate a giant orbital space weapon _again_ and I’m hoping this time I can keep her from winding up in the brig.”

“You worry too much.”

“You were off comm for twenty minutes! I was about to—” Something in shoulder popped, and the bright pinpoint of pain gave way to blessed, soothing relief. “ _Oh_.”

Gentle fingers replaced the hard elbow, lightly kneading the poor abused muscles. “Better?”

He nodded, falling quiet as he let the pleasant sensation wash over him. It was too easy to get lost in the feel of her hands rubbing across his bare skin, her thumbs softly sinking into the flesh above his shoulder blades. He definitely did not drool or anything unbecoming of the sort, but was dangerously close to nodding off by the time the pressure eased up.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“No,” he mumbled into the coverlet.

She made a noise of disbelief. “How you tie yourself up into these knots, I’ll never know.”

“I’m an expert at knots.” He couldn’t help but grin to himself at his own stupid little joke, imagining the more creative uses of them (not that he got much practice in these days; another case of knowing his audience). 

Even though he couldn’t see her face from his position, it was easy to imagine the confused frown stealing across her face. “Is that some kind of spy thing?” 

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

“You confuse me sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

The banter had pulled him out of his massage-induced stupor, and her close proximity was giving him all sorts of interesting follow-up ideas (and not all involving the creative use of a knot). His grin grew a bit wider, and without warning he rolled over and sat up in one smooth motion. She gave out a startled yelp, suddenly finding herself pressed up against his chest as she straddled his lap.

“What—?”

“It’s only fair that I give you a massage as well.” He grinned as his hands found their target.

“That’s not my shoulder you’re ‘massaging’.”

“Haven’t you heard of a full body massage?”

“I am fairly certain this is not how _that_ is supposed to work.”

“Funny, that’s what the Coruscant Board of Kinesiology Professionals said when they took away my license to be a masseuse.”

A blonde eyebrow arched delicately and she pressed her lips together as she fought down a smile. “Really?”

“Yes, it was the end of quite a promising career. I had to move into spywork to make ends meet.”

“That’s the next logical step, was it?” The edges of her lips twitched, as she stubbornly refused to give in.

“Well,” he rocked forward and gently knocked her onto her back, leaning over her with a what could only be described as a leer, “there’s some small crossover in skills.”

“Really?” She looked up at him. “What skills might those be?”

“I could tell you,” he whispered into her ear, “but it might be easier to show you. They’re very tactile after all.”

It was about as subtle as a nerf stampeding through an antiques store, but again, Theron just needed to know his audience. And he obviously did as she finally lost the fight to keep a stern expression and an amused smile took its place.

“I don’t know, I’m a bit skeptical about your ‘expertise’ in all of this.”

“Let me make you a believer then.” Theron’s voice dropped a few octaves, and he felt a shiver run through her as his return smile became a wolfish grin.

Her subtle nod was the only invitation he needed before he dove in, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss. As she practically melted in his arms, he decided that sometimes the obvious tactics worked best. Subtlety was overrated anyway.

 


	8. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: “No one will hurt you as long as i’m breathing” for Grey/Theron

Theron had fallen asleep some time ago, head pillowed on her chest as her fingers carded through his hair. If she ran her hands through it before his evening shower, sometimes her fingers would get stuck on the stiff strands, and she’d gently work them apart as he complained about her mussing up his carefully coiffed style (but never actually made any move to stop her). He had showered tonight, and the long strands were almost silky to the touch as she absently combed through it.

The action was comforting in a way, feeling the soft brown hairs tangle and part underneath her fingers, and watching the way his amber gaze softened and relaxed under the gentle motion. Seeing him relax, even for just a few moments, always felt like something special, unique. He was always so tense, so wound up and worried about seemingly everything. Mostly though, he seemed to worry about her, and that was… still something she hadn’t quite gotten used to.

She knew her friends, her old crew, even the Order appreciated her and cared for her well-being — just as she did for them. She could feel their warmth and affection flow through the Force, could see the light leak from them with each small gesture. Even from Scourge, devoted Empreror’s Wrath had a unique light of his own, although he would probably scoff if she were to tell him that. Theron’s light, though, was almost blinding sometimes with its intensity. If the others were pinpricks of starlight in the sky, he was sometimes a star on the verge of going supernova.

It should have frightened her, the depth of what she felt from him. The lecturing words of Masters Silvarte and Yollo back on Tython sometimes drifted back when she least expected, about the dangers of elevating the needs of one person above everyone else. There was some truth to them, she knew, as sometimes the strength of his emotions threatened to pull her in like a planet caught in the orbit around a star. Perhaps if she was the perfect, model Jedi many expected her to be, she would have been able to escape his gravity — but she had never been perfect, no matter how hard she tried.

And it was too hard to ignore his light, the one he tried to snuff out and hide from the casual observer. She could see it plain as day, in the way he threw himself body, mind, and soul into everything he did, just trying to make their galaxy a better place to live. Sometimes he would stumble, get caught up in his mind rather than his heart, but he always seemed to right himself before long. 

When that sort of intensity was directed towards her, how was she supposed to respond? She couldn’t direct it away, tell him to turn it down or to stop being himself. He didn’t share much about his past, just let little details slip here and there giving her a glimpse of the incomplete puzzle that was Theron Shan. A man whose whole life had been spent at arms length from everyone around him, and for the first time he tried to close that distance. It was both frightening and humbling to be on the receiving end of a gesture like that.

She let her fingers come to a rest for a moment, just feeling his weight press against her with each rise and fall of her chest, letting the warmth radiating off him wash over her. Feel the way his fingers curled lightly around her hip, as if even in sleep he was afraid of both holding on too tightly and letting go. It was a confusing mix of protectiveness and vulnerability that stoked a fierce need to guard him from the darkness constantly encroaching around them.

“As long as I breathe,” she murmured, pressing her lips against the soft downy hair, “I’ll keep you safe.”

His weight shifted, and his stubble scratched lightly across her skin as his face tipped up to look at her, his gaze still heavy with sleep. “Did you say something?”

She swallowed, summoning up a smile past the warmth blossoming in her chest. “Nothing important. Go back to sleep.”

He blinked a few times, brows knitting together as if he was trying to puzzle something together. Even now in the fugue of sleep, the light he gave off was still almost too blinding. She let her fingers drift back to their rhythmic motions from before, and it didn’t take long before his breathing evened out again in sleep.

Perhaps the Masters had been right, perhaps they had been wrong. In the end, their wisdom and words would have to be judged by someone else. If the alternative choice was to live in the darkness of solitude, she chose to be blinded by the light in front of her.


	9. Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Keldae on Tumblr for the prompt: "I'm not going to let you out of my sight."

Theron had only looked away for a few seconds.

The controls for the door hadn’t been responding, so he was attempting to plug in to the ancient system to force an override. He had ignored her smirk and the amused suggestion that maybe the Force could open it, seeing as the temple ruins  _had_  been built by Sith eons ago. It was one of many scattered about the Pelath-Ri Marches on Voss, and the third they’d crawled through today in search of the artifact Sana Rae had seen in a vision. At the second they had nearly been decapitated by a trap triggered by Force telekinesis. While Theron could have been accused of being a thrillseeker, he still preferred his head where it was thank you very much.

The sound of her boots scraping against the old weathered stone floor as she paced behind him provided a soundtrack as he focused in on the puzzle before him. The circuitry for the door was old, the security system’s coding ancient and hardly decipherable, but he luckily Ngani Zho had thought it would be prudent for his student to study more than just Basic. It wasn’t an exact translation, but Theron was able to get enough of a gist to make out the triggers that would have shot out a few lethal laser beams had the opening mechanism been working properly (lucky them). Damn paranoid Sith and their death traps. He traced the winding and circuitous path, finding the correct sequence that would safely open the door.

The whole temple practically shuddered, dust raining down from the ceiling, and the door let out a loud, almost deafening groan as it slid open for the first time in a millennia. He shoved his slicer spike back into his pocket, not bothering to hide his smirk as he turned around to face his Jedi companion and the words “Who needs the Force?” starting to form on his lips.

The words, and the smirk, died as soon as he turned to face an empty room. A cold spike of fear shot through him as he pulled his blaster and began sweeping the room.

“Commander?” His voice sounded far steadier than his nerves, although it hardly carried above the echoing rumbles of the temple as it settled back into place. “Where are you?”

It had been only a few moments, she couldn’t have  _gone_  anywhere. His heart was definitely not pounding in is chest as a rising sense of panic began to creep over him. It was like one of his nightmares playing out in front of him. Five months being reunited had yet to douse the memories of her being gone for five years. He would still wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes in his own bed, sometimes in hers, after dreaming of her vanishing in front of him. This was definitely not a dream though, as the stale stench of the old temple reminded him on every short ragged breath that he was actually awake this time.

“Commander!” he called again, loud enough so his voice echoed across the empty room.

As the rumbles faded away, for a moment, all Theron could hear was the pounding of his own heart as silence closed in around him. Panic was most definitely starting to set in, when he heard it. A soft, muffled noise back from the alcove that the now open doorway was tucked away in.

He stilled, ears straining against the silence, until he heard it again. “—eron…”

Boots pounded against the weathered stone as he raced back, madly searching for the source of the sound. Everything looked as it had, crumbling stone archway, dark ominous carvings lit by the flickering light of the old circuitry — all the same when he had turned around just minus one blonde Jedi.

“Talk to me,” he called out.

“Here.” Her voice was distant, breathless, and yet deceptively calm, but he could still hear an undercurrent of fear laced into it that did nothing to calm his nerves. “The wall…”

Her words seemed to cut off with a gasp, and he quickly followed the sound to its source. He ran his fingers along one of the twisted carvings of what may have once been a face, trying to find a seam or any opening. His adrenaline was starting to kick in, but he took several long, slow breaths, not pausing in his search, to try and focus his mind on the task. He managed to shove it away, just as he found a crack in the wall.

He looked in, and could just barely make out the silhouette of a caped figure pinned between two very cramped walls. He felt the tension and panic drain from him. “How did you get in there?”

“Opened with the door,” she managed to get out. “Another trap.”

“Sorry. But at least it wasn’t the laser beams?”

“Lasers—?” She let out a small, pained gasp. “Can you… do something? I can’t move… think it’s getting tighter.”

_Shit_. “Hold on, hold on. I’ll get you out of there.”

“Hurry. Please.”

Theron was back at the door, slicer spike in hand almost faster than humanly possible. He plugged back in, navigating through the pathways he had mapped, trying to find the trigger for the secondary trap on the door. He cursed the rampant paranoia of the Sith under his breath as he tried to decipher the runes flashing on the HUD in his ocular implants. He traced the door’s opening mechanism along another pathway that he hadn’t noticed the first time, as the old circuitry had decayed to where he hadn’t seen the connection. Apparently the decay had also slowed the crushing mechanism, so that it was slowly squeezing the life out of its victim rather than smashing them to a pulp straight away.

“Theron…” 

The breathless gasp sent another spike of fear through him, but he forced himself to focus past that, and stare at complicated programming in front of him. If he rushed it, he could trigger the tertiary trap he had just seen — or even accidentally fix the broken pathway so that it finished the job. Damn Sith, even in their architecture they made it easy to die — why did the simple act of living have to be a kriffing test with them? Wait…  _there_. There it was!

Carefully he hit the trigger, and everything around him shuddered again as the crack in the wall began to slide open. He darted back towards the alcove, not bothering to wait for it to finish opening before he dove in and helped pull the trapped Jedi free from its grasp.

More dust and loose stones rained down as the old stonework and the architecture around them groaned as everything slid back into place. It took almost a full minute for the echoes and rumbles to fade away, and even longer for the thudding in his chest to settle back down to its normal pace. The damnable door that had started all of this lay open, the darkened tomb containing a vast array of dusty artifacts.

He didn’t care.

“Theron,” she said softly, “I’m okay. You can let go.”

“Are you kidding?” He pulled her in closer. “After that, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”


	10. Relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt of "taking a bath together" for an anonymous requester over on Tumblr. This is a follow-up to Chapter 9, "Traps"

There were apparently some perks to having a Mystic as a friend when on Voss, especially when traveling there on the say-so of one. Less hassle through customs, getting your pick of speeders, and also apparently, getting the royal treatment at the local establishments. Theron was going to need pass along his thanks to Sana-Rae when they got back to Odessen. The Pel-Ki Hot Springs were not as frequent a travel stop as the Shrine of Healing, but still saw plenty of visitors even in the time of the Eternal Empire. Most of the offworlders, and a few Voss as well, had given them the stink-eye as they were escorted past the long waiting line into one of the private rooms normally reserved for citizens.

The lobby area had about a dozen signs reminding offworlders of all of the intricate and various rules for the springs: no clothes, no loud noises, no splashing, and several emphatic variations on no hanky-panky. Of course, that probably wasn’t much of a problem over on the public side of the springs, as the pools over there were completely natural and unfiltered, and the stench of sulfur wafted out into the lobby anytime one of the doors to that area opened. That wasn’t the case over in the private baths. Set back in a dimly lit area of the sanctuary, the filtered pools were painstakingly and lovingly carved into the architecture and provided a much more relaxed and pleasant experience.

Theron leaned back into one of the seats that had been carved into the large pool’s greater structure, the warm water coming almost up to his collarbone. Like all of the amenities, it had been designed with much taller individuals in mind. He was a decent height for a human but when standing next to a Voss, Theron looked almost stunted. He sent a curious glance over to his companion, who at almost half a foot shorter than him, had found a much shallower ledge to perch on.

Grey was glancing around the darkened room curiously, eyes continually straying to the Voss attendant at the far side of the room who was paying the offworlders very little mind at the moment. He watched as she shifted uncomfortably, trying to cross her arms and legs in a way that preserved some propriety, and felt a small tinge of guilt at her obvious discomfort. He’d wanted to wash off the remnants of the tombs they’d been exploring all day, the ancient grime seeming to settle into every crack and pore. He’d practically leapt at the chance to visit the springs when one of their guides had mentioned them in an offhand comment about their healing properties. The bruises that the Jedi had acquired from their close encounter at the last set of ruins they’d been exploring were nowhere near serious enough for a visit to the Shrine of Healing, but a nice long soak in hot mineral water definitely wouldn’t hurt.

She caught his eye and he tilted his head at her, partially in question, partially in invitation. She flushed some, and gaze never straying from the bored Voss who had not glanced at her even once, glided through the water to join him near his deep perch. The attendant might not have had any interest in the naked woman underneath the water, but Theron himself couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was nothing he hadn’t seen countless times before, but it was a sight that had yet to grow old for him. He felt a familiar lick of heat start up low in his belly, and the sudden flush spreading throughout him couldn’t be completely blamed by the steam rising off the surface of the pool.

The water gently lapped against his chest as her motions made small waves, sloshing inelegantly around them as she came to rest next to him.

“He’s not looking, you know,” Theron joked quietly.

“I’m not… worried about that,” she shot back, but the way she hugged her chest with one arm as she tried to find a relaxing position in the deep water said otherwise.

“Sure you aren’t,” he teased. “Besides, I don’t think you’re his type. He probably likes them blue and much taller.”

“Is that a height joke?”

He hummed noncommittally as his fingers ghosted along her spine, a shiver running across her skin in their wake. Her eye roll at him was half-hearted at best, her body unconsciously drifting closer to him at the brief contact. He kept up the action, partially just because she was close enough and he loved the silky feeling of her skin underneath the mineral water, but also as a small reassurance that she was still there. The adrenaline rush after her brief disappearance had faded, but it had stoked unpleasant memories that took much longer to lock back away. 

He decided to distract himself in the best way possible, by ignoring it completely, and instead leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You’re my type, though.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come here to relax.”

“This is relaxing,” he insisted even as his fingers followed the line from her spine down, dipping much, much lower.

Her eyes flew back to the Voss attendant, who seemed more interested in stacking and folding towels than the clear improprieties happening underneath the surface of the water. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

“Nah,” he said lightly, “I’m observing the ‘no shouting’ rule.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed, “and you know it.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin at the annoyed expression she fixed him with. One day ruffling her out of that serene Jedi facade would lose its charm, but today was not that day. “I’m not splashing either.”

“You are impossible.”

He quirked a brow. “If I’m so impossible why haven’t you gone back to your lonely little ledge over there?”

“It’s just warmer over here,” she insisted, and then dropped her voice further. “And also this is a better hiding spot.”

“I guess it’s good that Sana-Rae’s connections got us access to the private room then. Would you have even been able to set foot in a pool full of strangers?”

Her eye twitched as she clearly started imagining the scenario. “I just feel so… exposed.”

“We can leave if you really want to,” he reminded her.

“But we just got here,” she hedged, “and the water does feel nice…”

He bit back on his automatic response of that not being the only thing that felt nice, although he was pretty sure she read that unspoken sentiment in the way his fingers kept dancing lightly across her skin. The fact that she was leaning slightly into the motion told him that she wasn’t opposed to his touch, but in deference to her protests he shifted his attention a little further north of the equator. Some of the tension released from her shoulders, but he noted the brief flash of confusion and disappointment. Huh, perhaps she was more concerned with the lack of complete privacy than breaking the rules. Would wonders never cease.

“So I take it all that galaxy saving before now didn’t provide much time for visiting the local hot spots?”

“I encouraged my crew to take breaks,” she said hesitantly.

“Oh, just your crew?”

“Well,” she hedged, “they would ask me to join...”

“They? Or Doc?”

“Okay, mostly Doc, but still, it was hard to justify relaxing and unwinding with how much was at stake. Especially during our first trip to Voss.”

Theron quirked a brow at her, reviewing his mental history of her file. “Was that right after…?”

She nodded solemnly, and his fingers stopped the gentle stroking to rest his entire hand firmly on the small of her back. He didn’t need to mention out loud the time she and her crew had been held captive in the then-Sith Emperor’s fortress, nor what she’d been forced to do while under his control. Even all these years later, it was like a fresh wound — or maybe just a reopened one, considering who had taken up residence in her mind while she’d been frozen in carbonite. 

“It was easier to keep busy too. Trying to stop Vitiate’s ritual… it gave me something to focus on.”

He pressed his lips together, wondering if this was one of those moments where he should let her talk, or where she wanted to think about other things and would appreciate a distraction and change of subject. He was saved from having to guess as her gaze broke away, drifting to the darkened carvings etched into the dimly lit architecture.

“Do you think I should have?” She spoke after a long, quiet moment.

“Should have what?” he asked cautiously.

“Taken a break. Stopped to appreciate things in the moment.”

“I think,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to brush away the bangs falling into her face, “that you did whatever felt right at the time. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “if it was worth it, considering how everything turned out.”

He tilted his head, trying to figure out where this was coming from. “What do you mean?”

“He was off in Wild Space,” she said quietly, “building up yet another Empire. The body I struck down was just one of his vessels. Now I’m another. Or was. I… still don’t know what happened out in those woods on Odessen.”

Like usual, Theron didn’t really have the answer for the deeper issues of the Force, fate, or the big questions in life. All he had was everything in front of him, which included one frowning Jedi Master. He didn’t even bother glancing at their attendant to see if he was watching, Theron just leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her nose.

“Sorry,” she flushed, “just thinking aloud.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said quietly, “if that’s what you want to do.”

“I think I’d like to relax?” It was said hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to actually admit that aloud. “You would think as a Jedi I’d be able to do that.”

“There’s a difference between meditation and relaxation,” Theron teased lightly, “and you don’t really have the gills for trying to meditate underwater.”

“Who says I’d be underwater?”

“Well, your height for one.”

He quirked a brow and her mouth dropped open slightly in mock indignation. Seizing the opportunity, he surged forward capturing her lips in a kiss, and while being careful of her bruises, used his grip on her back to pull her into his lap. The sudden movement made a small splash, and her eyes immediately went to the attendant, who it was possible was just asleep at this point. Did Voss sleep with their eyes open or shut? He would have consulted the HoloNet for that answer, but was far more preoccupied at the moment.

Having her this close sent a thrill straight down his spine, desire pooling in his gut as he deepened the kiss. With her current position, there was very little doubt to the state of his own arousal, and as he broke away, he saw that a deep flush had spread far beyond her cheeks.

“This really isn’t the place,” she said breathlessly.

“Then consider it a preview,” he said, voice low, “for when we get back to our room. If you’re interested in continuing this particular… conversation.”

Somehow the blush in her cheeks darkened further, sending another rush of heat through him. This time it _definitely_ couldn’t be blamed on the steam. “I think I’d like that.”

To Theron’s credit, his smile was only a little feral. “Me too.”

“Although we do have almost an hour left,” she said, “it seems like a wasted opportunity if we leave now.”

“Some things are worth waiting for,” he agreed. “Besides, I still need to teach you how to relax.”

“Why does that sound a little like the blind leading the blind?”

Theron rolled his eyes, and even if she did have a point, he wasn’t going to admit it aloud. She shot him a shy little smirk of her own before readjusting her position until her back was pressed against his chest and her head was resting against his shoulder. 

“This work?” she asked a bit dubiously.

“It’s a start.”

The reply might have been sarcastic, but the sting of it was taken out by him threading their fingers together and resting his cheek against the top of her head. Between the warmth of the water and the feeling of her skin pressed against his, Theron felt his tension and stress begin to fade away. While not a natural inclination for either of them, they both slowly began to relax and settle in, letting the rare moment of peace stretch out.


	11. Patching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from captainderyn on Tumblr: ♟: Patching up a wound | ♢: Forehead or cheek kisses | ♠: One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/ etc.
> 
> This takes place during the Eternal Championship, and is an indirect follow-up to another story, "The Art of Disguise".

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I don’t fidget,” Theron grumbled, but let out a breath and focused on remaining still. “It just stung a little is all.”

Even in the dark of the alcove they were sitting in, he was still able to make out her brows knitting together slightly in concern. He was just a little tired and irritated, so suppressing his urge to roll his eyes at that small act of worrying on her part was a little too much effort that he was willing to expend. 

She caught it, and the breath she let out contained a hint of exasperation. “I just want to help.” 

There wasn’t much privacy in the Arena Grand, especially for those that were still in the beginning stages of the Eternal Championship. The highest ranked fighters got private break rooms to relax in during fights, but the “Mysterious Stranger” and her companion had only just progressed past the second match, so they had to make do. The small alcove they had found was just isolated and dark enough to escape from any prying eyes that might recognize the face underneath the steel and red mask. Safe under the cover of darkness, she had removed it, as well as the gloves and jacket of her “disguise” in order to try and administer first aid.

“I’m _fine_.” He tried to tamp down on the urge to shift uncomfortably, because as previously stated, Theron Shan did _not_ fidget. “I’m not going to complain about a little spider bite.”

“Little? You’re joking right?” The knitted brows rose into an expression of disbelief. “Those Iknayids were almost as big me!”

“As I said,” he couldn’t resist shooting her a teasing smirk, “ _little_.”

She huffed, cheeks puffing out as she tried to reign in her annoyance. “They’re also poisonous. Koth got bit by one when we were cleaning out the Gravestone, said it felt like his blood was on fire. He was quite uncomfortable in the time it took Lana to find an antivenin out in the middle of the Endless Swamp.”

Okay, that maybe sounded a little painful. “Maybe I’m just made of sterner stuff than Koth.”

“Or maybe he just has less to prove,” she shot back, irritation rising to the surface. “I still can’t believe they let him bring an entire nest full of those things into the arena. Isn’t that against the rules?”

“ _What_ rules?” Theron corrected. “I told you these guys don’t play fair.”

“It’s barbaric,” she muttered darkly. “When those things swarmed you, everyone just cheered, like it was some big _thrill_. And it made me want to—”

She broke off, instead choosing to focus on carefully applying kolto to the puncture mark that had been meticulously cleaned. Her expression had flickered to something darker than he was used to seeing, hinting at a suppressed anger and outrage, before it was quickly replaced by a carefully crafted neutral expression. That mask was different than the one lying on the ground next to her, but she wore it just as well in her attempts to disguise her true self.

He laid one of his hands on hers as she reached for another small patch of kolto. The mask slipped, and when she raised her gaze to look at him, he saw the naked concern and guilt shining back at him. The taught, square set to her shoulders mirrored the stance she’d had when she’d barreled into the pile of Iknayids that had swarmed him, lightsabers whirling in an endless fury. He hadn’t been able to see her face then, hidden behind the featureless mask of her disguise, but the protective way she’d stepped in front of him spoke volumes, as she used the Force and her spinning blades to shield Theron from both the creatures and the wild blaster fire their master was laying down until he’d managed to find his feet.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous.” Her brows narrowed, chasing a way an inkling of the guilt. “You didn’t want to come here in the first place, but I talked you into it anyway. Didn’t listen to you about the people I was wanting to go up against, and now—”

He pressed the index finger of his free hand against her lips, stemming the tirade and earning himself an affronted look. “I’m okay. And you _are_ being ridiculous if you think for one moment I was going to stay back safe on Odessen while you risked your life in this place.”

“But—”

“You’re always going to be the person who can’t sit still when you could be out there helping. Freeing slaves, saving worlds, just doing what has to be done. Just the kind of person the galaxy has been missing for about five years.” Theron felt the corners of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile. “And me too if I’m being honest.”

Even in the darkness he could see color rush to her cheeks. He let his finger slip down from her lips to gently rest in the cleft of her chin.

 “You shouldn’t feel like you have to follow me wherever I go,” she finally said quietly.

“We’re a team. You go, I go.” He quirked a brow. “Or are we not partners still?”

“We are.” Her eyes crinkled up as a small smile lit up her features. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Well then, that’s going to be a long, long time.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Count on it.”

She dropped her eyes, visibly fighting to keep her smile from growing as she adjusted the collar of his shirt to cover up the bandages before smoothing his jacket back into place. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Kolto’s already kicked in, can hardly feel it. And no burning thanks to your antivenin, but I’ll keep you updated if you’re worried.” He gave her an exaggerated wink, and she snorted indignantly.

“Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“You,” he shot back easily, grabbing the mask up from the ground and tossed it between his hands. “I’m always serious.”

“Right.” Somehow she managed to draw the single syllabic word out to about three times its length. 

“I am. Now, if the chronometer on my implants are right, our next bout is about to start. And these next guys I wouldn’t mind putting in their place.”

“Oh? Not a fan of the Heralds of Zildrog?”

“Not a big fan of apocalypse cults. Or fanatics.” He held out the mask for her. “What do you say about the best dressed team here showing them who’s boss, eh, ‘Mysterious Stranger’?”

She pressed her lips together, trying to smother a full-on grin as she clipped the mask back into place before sliding the replica red and white leatheris jacket back over her shoulders. “I guess we can do that.”

He quirked a brow at her ridiculous disguise, and carefully adjusted the stiff collar until it looked right. “Let’s not keep them waiting then.”

He didn’t need to see under the mask to know she was still smiling, as he heard it in her voice. “Let’s.”


	12. Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for rinskiroo and an anonymous prompter for: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

It was possible it had started from the first moment he saw her, cape billowing behind her as she strode into the room like she owned it. Or when he’d spied her on the flickering holofeed as she tore through enemy forces on Korriban like a whirlwind, only stopping long enough to help a group of slaves find freedom. Or even the way she stared down Darok and demanded answers to the same questions that Theron had been asking himself. But the word had never really been a part of his vocabulary, and he’d been more focused on the more obvious mystery in front of him at the time.

If not before then, it had  _definitely_  started when Theron heard her storming the Revanite base, his sliced comm channel broadcasting her threat to tear it apart until he was found. The weird feeling bubbling up from his gut and settling in his chest had been easier to blame on his broken ribs and the injuries he’d sustained during his interrogation. 

He still didn’t have the word for it, but the electricity that ran through him when he kissed her for the first time was unlike anything he’d felt before. There was something  _different_  about her, and that was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. And Theron had yet to find a thrill he wasn’t willing to chase to its very end.

That end hadn’t been found on Yavin, in fact sharing her bed had only fueled the thrill further. Nor had it been found on Ziost, trying to stave off the world of the possessed. Not even her supposed death seemed to end it, as he just found himself falling deeper and deeper into this  _thing_  they had. He tried to forget, tried to down it out but it just came back with a vengeance. Seeing her five years later on Odessen, the way her face lit up from across the landing platform when she laid her eyes on him, he’d known then it would never really go away, and let himself get swept along.

And as he was swept along, on Star Fortress after Star Fortress, mission after mission, that feeling, that  _word_  started to take shape. Until it smacked him right between the eyes one day as he paced the length of the War Room again and again after she went missing on him, lost in the wilds of Odessen with that damned ghost in her head as her only company. When she finally dragged herself back, bruised but alive, his voice failed him.

It continued to fail him when he took a few precious moments to follow her back to her quarters, and crush her to his chest as if somehow that would stem the rush of emotions threatening to pull him under.

“Theron, what’s wrong?”

That word, the one that had been chasing him for over five years, ever since Carrick Station, finally appeared. And it was so damn obvious he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before.

 _I think I’m in love with you._  Was what he had meant to say, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. Instead he just pulled her in tighter, as if she might disappear again if he loosened his grip for even a moment.  _And I’m terrified._


	13. Maintenance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from MJayde66 on Tumblr: “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“You know, the paint’s supposed to go on the  _hull_.”

The comment earned Theron an annoyed glower, but the blonde Jedi didn’t pause in her efforts, just dipped the large brush back into the comically gigantic bucket to refill it with red paint. The thick liquid congealed and oozed down the handle as she hefted it back up. As she applied a generous swipe to the durasteel hull of  _the Defender_ , several splatters found their way onto her, the bright red paint standing out in stark contrast against the freckles dotting her bare arms.

Theron propped his hip against the metal landing strut, safe to watch the show in a splatter-free zone. “Unless this is supposed to be some kind of performance art.”

“It is not,” Grey said primly, “I’m just tending to my ship since it got a little scratched on our last mission.”

“Uh, you realize that you have people for that now, right? One of the perks of being the boss.”

“Yes,” her tone was even, but Theron detected an undercurrent of irritation peeking through, “but the damages are superficial.”

“And?”

“And as the ship can function perfectly fine with scratched paint, I am not going to spend our resources on a vanity project.”

He arched a brow. “ _Vanity_  project, huh?”

“It is purely for aesthetic purposes,” she replied simply, “so what would you call it?”

“Um, routine maintenance?” He tried but that didn’t seem to garner any reaction. “Still, you’re the Commander of the Alliance now. You don’t have to do menial tasks anymore.”

The next few swipes of the brush perhaps carried a little more force than necessary, and Grey dipped the brush back into the bucket. When she glanced back up at him, several more flecks of red having found their way onto her cheeks. From the deep-set frown, he knew it would not be wise to give in to his urge to smile at the sight, but it was a hard fought battle to keep a neutral expression.

“What if I  _want_  to do it?”

“I never really pegged you as the painting type,” he said slowly. Although he probably still wouldn’t, given the amount of pigment that had wound up on her person and the surrounding ground rather than its intended target. “Nor someone that concerned with the appearance of her starship.”

“I’m not, it’s just…” She dropped her gaze back to the bucket of paint and the brush. “This had been our home for so long. I know it’s not any more, but…”

‘Our home’. Not his and hers, but that of her and her old crew. Practically her family for so many years, now gone and scattered to the edges of the galaxy. With the exception of Teeseven, the ship had been the only thing he’d been able to find and bring back to her. The humor of the situation seemed to evaporate with that realization.

“It seems wrong to make someone else take care of it,” she added quietly.

He eyed her, the dripping hull, and the wet paintbrush for a significant pause before he let out a long and resigned sigh. If it was important for her to maintain some old tradition, some vestige of the life she used to have, then he wouldn’t try and stop her — but that didn’t mean she had to do it alone. Without a word, he slipped out of his jacket and carefully hung it on the strut. When he glanced back up, she was looking at him curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“I don’t want to make anyone do this.”

“You’re not  _making_  me do anything,” his reply was muffled slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m volunteering.”

Pink rushed to her cheeks. “But why are you  _stripping_?”

“Well, clearly you and that paintbrush have some issues to work out.” He unceremoniously dropped his shirt to the ground before joining her in the splash zone. “And I don’t want to have to deal with dry cleaning my jacket.”

“I,” she stuttered, “that still doesn’t explain your shirt.”

“That could just be my favorite shirt and I don’t want it getting dirty.” She narrowed an eyebrow in disbelief, glancing at the haphazard way he had discarded it. The corners of his mouth quirked up as he fought down a grin. “Or maybe I just wanted to make you blush.”

The color in her cheeks darkened. “Well, you’re not succeeding.”

“Clearly.” There was no fighting the grin at this point, but he was proud of himself for not sounding too smug, and tried to just focus on the actual task at hand. “I’m having a hard time believing no one ever taught you how to hold a paintbrush.”

“Well,” she said, “usually Doc and Rusk took care of repainting the hull. I always assumed it was some kind of male bonding.”

He gave her a look and gently took hold of her hand, readjusting her grip on the paintbrush before helping her tap out the excess on the side. The blush in her cheeks darkened to nearly match the red on the hull as he wrapped his arms around her, using his grip on her hand to demonstrate the proper, controlled stroke to use.

“See, this way you get the paint where it’s  _supposed_  to go.”

“I could have done that.”

“But you weren’t.” 

The glare she directed at him contained no heat, and he just returned it with a teasing smirk.

“Theron Shan,” there was more than a little exasperation in her tone, “I’m starting to suspect you are intentionally trying to irritate me.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “Your nose wrinkles when you glare and it scrunches all of your freckles together. It’s adorable.”

“I do not.”

“Oh look, there’s that glare again,” he said, “and the nose wrinkle.”

“You are  _impossible_.”

His grin just widened, but instead of teasing her further, he grabbed an extra brush and began to fill in some of longer scratches that were just out of her reach. She watched him for several long moments, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the annoyed expression melt away into a tiny smile. Without a word, she delicately dipping her brush back into the bucket in the manner he had instructed and carefully began to smooth out her erratic strokes from before. 

“Thank you.”

He paused, glancing down to be rewarded by quiet, but genuine smile. He couldn’t help but return it in kind.

“Any time.”


	14. Wherever You Will Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for rinskiroo over on Tumblr for the prompt: “everywhere you go, i go.”
> 
> More of “inspired by” rather than including the actual phrase. Takes place between Chapter 6 and 7 of of KOTET.

When she couldn’t sleep, sometimes her fingers would play with the edge of the sheet, running across the fabric. Other times they might lightly ghost across his skin—as if she was about to wake him to ask something, but stopped herself. Theron was a light sleeper, though, and usually it was enough to rouse him if he’d fallen asleep before her—a rarity in itself. He usually remained still, let her get the restless energy out before she slipped off to sleep, and then followed sometime thereafter.

It had only been an occasional thing before, but since they’d returned from Vaylin’s palace, ever since Arcann had formally joined their Alliance, it had almost become a nightly ritual. Like something needed to ground herself with before she let sleep take her.

Tonight though, they hadn’t pretended to drift off yet, but Grey had already begun to idly trace patterns into his bare skin. Starting at his shoulder she’d press in lightly, as if mapping a coordinate, before tracing to another point and pressing in again. Something about the shapes she was tracing were familiar, but he was more distracted by the look of thoughtful contemplation on her face, marred by the slightest furrowing of her brow.

Her hand finished trailing out another shape, and he caught her mouth moving silently, forming the word “Batuu”. He waited, watching as she repeated the movement, with a different shape this time, although now she mouthed “Rishi”—oh, they were star maps. Constellations as seen from the Odessen sky.

This continued on, each time a different constellation and the planet it corresponded to a little more distant and remote — that much further away from Odessen and Zakuul. He let a frown show on his face as he tried to puzzle out the why. He almost asked it aloud, but stopped himself. Clearly something had been bothering her for several nights—but he had never quite parsed out when he should press for a direct answer or let her come to him. Perhaps he was too wary of making a misstep, even now after all they’d been through together, he sometimes was afraid of pushing  _too_  much, as if he’d eventually find the breaking point and shove her away. Or perhaps whatever this was about had more to do with the incorporeal being that hovered somewhere in the back of her mind than something Theron had said or done.

So maybe it was just caution, maybe a little bit of cowardice, but he decided to test the waters rather than jump in with both feet. He let his fingers drift from where they’d lightly rested on her bare hip up to her back and lightly traced a constellation of his own.

“Felucia,” he said quietly.

Grey paused, surprise registering on her face as a little color rushed to her cheeks, visible even in the darkness. After a moment’s consideration, she nodded. “Felucia.”

It had been a safe bet, fitting into the pattern of remote, distant worlds. In the dim light reflected off the ceiling, he could see the corners of her mouth twitch up into the hints of a smile, and the troubled frown seemed to recede. Well, that was at least an improvement. 

She traced another constellation, this time her fingers drifting to his chest, the movement more deliberate now that she realized she had an audience. “Kegan.”

Kegan. Not much there but rolling plains, crops, and large expanses of nothing. It wasn’t the complete opposite edge of the galaxy, but far enough that it would take a long,  _long_  time for even the most wanted being in the galaxy to be found. He took that into consideration, and then let his fingers dance along the freckling on her shoulder—it might have been cheating to use actual dots to mark out the location, but a good spy used the tools he had at hand.

She seemed to catch on to what he was doing, and saw one eyebrow narrow in consternation even as her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. Stars, they needed to keep her far,  _far_  from any Sabaac table or other game of chance, because she was  _bad_  at bluffing. With her tendency to bet big, the whole Alliance would go broke within three or four rounds.

“Yavin,” he said, the word barely a whisper, but still sounding almost like a shout in the silence of the large room.

She considered it for a brief moment but shook her head. “Nostalgic, but too many Massassi for anything but a quick visit.”

“Probably for the best.” He filed that away, not a vacation she was angling for then. He was careful to keep his expression light, letting his hand drift back down her hip as he leaned in closer. “The most fun part about that planet anyway was the shuttle, and I crashed that a  _long_  while ago.”

This time he did get a reaction out of her, the smile twitching into full even as she rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about?”

“Well, I figured the shuttle was nicer and softer than the jungle floor. Not to mention cleaner.”

“I wasn’t talking about the shuttle.” 

“I know.” 

She shook her head, veering back to the subject at hand as she looked at him seriously, not bothering to trace the constellation this time. “Polis Massa.”

“Well, I’ve never been there,” he said, “might be interesting to see the sights.”

Not that there would be  _that_  many sights to see burrowed underground, unless they surfaced to go looking at asteroids. Still, something about his response made her relax and the shy smile blossomed back into place. 

“Coruscant?” He tossed out, careful to keep his face neutral and questioning, even though he knew it didn’t fit the pattern.

The frown returned as she shook her head quickly, vehemently. “Too crowded. Too known. Too… obvious.”

Ah, so it wasn’t just Zakuul she was trying to put distance to. 

“Guess that means Corellia is out too?” She narrowed a brow at him, and he shrugged. “What? They have good whiskey.”

This was probably the point where he should have said  _something_  else other than another planet name, but the only frown she seemed to have at this point was for him being intentionally dense. So instead of putting a stop to it, he let whatever this game was continue on a little more.

“Voss then?”

That was a misstep. She shook her head quickly, immediately, fingers tightening their the grip on his bicep. Her gaze flitted away from him, looking over her shoulder briefly as if looking for something—or some _one_ —before the tension left her shoulders and she relaxed back into him. He frowned, glancing around the room, but as usual if there was an appearance from their unwanted incorporeal roommate, Theron wasn’t able to see him. Not that Voss would have been an ideal place to visit—or hide as he was starting to suspect—not after Vaylin practically had leveled the place in her search for Arcann and Senya. Although her reaction did tell Theron that her reluctance to actually voice the subject of her thoughts directly had to do with her not wanting Valkorion to either hear or comment on for some reason.

“Not my favorite planet anyway,” he reassured her.

A ghost of a smile returned, and she pressed her lips against his shoulder gently. “Well, you don’t like poetry.”

That  _was_  true, and the Voss were  _awfully_  fond of their poetry — but that wasn’t much of a concern for a simple visit, even a long one. “Who said that?”

“You did. After your third whiskey.”

“Three-drink-Theron is a dirty snitch then,” he declared, and she visibly fought down a laugh. “Tatooine?”

They continued on, sounding more like they were taking turns reading out of a galactic atlas than two people having an actual conversation. Eventually he had to start wracking his brain, trying to come up with more and more remote and out of the way places. He briefly thought about using his implants to do a HoloNet search, but decided that was probably cheating. Eventually her return answers got softer, muttering more indistinct as she buried her face into his chest and she seemed to start to drift closer to the edge of sleep. 

Almost every planet named would have been a perfect place to run away to, perfect to hide from  _everything_ —Zakuul, the Alliance, all of the responsibility and war—but from the way her hold tightened—everything  _but_  him. He wasn’t sure if the thought of that was heartening or heartbreaking—eventually he decided that the best word to describe it was bittersweet. The only reason he could even begin to guess her not actually saying it aloud was that she didn’t want Valkorion to hear the quiet desperation, the understandable and utterly human want to just run and get away from everything the galaxy had thrown at her. And there was nothing he could do that could fix any of that—nothing except indulge the fantasy for a few more moments as he thought of another place where she could theoretically fade into anonymity.

They both knew the reality of it, there was no real escaping the path she’d been set upon. Even if she didn’t have an ancient horror trapped in the back of her mind, with the way Vaylin was burning through every world in her path in an attempt lay waste to every last member of her family—including the one skulking around in the shadows of Grey’s mind—there was no real place to hide forever. There was nothing to do but face the inevitable head on, and hope they had enough luck, or the Force, or  _something_  to emerge out victorious on the other side.

“I have to take it, don’t I?” The words were whispered so soft, nearly mouthed directly into his skin, he almost missed them. The one thing he couldn’t miss was the broken, defeated tone threading underneath. “That damn chair.”

He almost said the name of some other planet, Eadu, filled with only nerfs and violent thunderstorms. But the time for pretending had passed, and this was the real heart of the matter. The thing that had been plaguing her for the past few nights. He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to tell her the truth as he saw it, because the honest answer was yes. Even though no one person should have the kind of power the Eternal Throne wielded, if there was a single soul in the galaxy he trusted with that sort of thing, it would be her.

He wasn’t able to keep the sad smile from forming, and instead avoided the question directly. “Do you want it?”

“No,” her words were just as quiet before, but less broken, more sure now, “but it’s never been about what I want, has it?”

He wanted to have an answer for that, something, anything, to bring that smile back. But he didn’t. So he made the only offer he could, even though he knew it was the wrong one. “We could start at Rishi, work our way from there.”

Her fingers slowly traced the familiar pattern, the one where it had all started—or at least, where they’d stopped pretending—the rough calluses of her battle-worn hands tickling and tingling as they formed the constellation for Rishi over his heart. “First we finish what we started.”

“Then Rishi,” he finished.

“Then Rishi,” she agreed.


	15. Metamorphosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Vacation Time" prompt for swtor-prompts on Tumblr. Set post “Nathema Conspiracy”.

 

When he’d originally left Rishi, Theron had been happy to see the planet disappear through the viewport on the bridge of _the Dauntless_ as they’d entered hyperspace. As far as exiles went, a tropical paradise was definitely preferable to some place like Hoth, or stars forbid, _Tatooine_ , but he’d gained enough bruises and lost enough of his time to the pirate haven. And despite how some of his fellow agents had teased him upon his return to Coruscant, his time there hadn’t been anything close to a vacation (not that he was a vacation kind of guy anyway), and he considered himself happy to never set foot on the planet again.

Funny how time changed things.

Because back on Rishi he was, and on a _vacation_ no less. He was fairly certain his past self would have been bored out of his skull in five minutes, probably looking to find a convenient cliff to paraglide off of—or something else that would have gotten the adrenaline pumping and shut off that part of his brain that liked to dwell on silly things like his personal life (or lack thereof at the time). The man he was seven years ago definitely wouldn’t have been lounging on the sand in a ridiculous and bright-colored shirt patterned with his least favorite tropical fruit, content to occasionally grab another bottle of Corellian ale from the bucket of ice next to him as he watched his _fiancee_ splash about in the gentle surf a few meters beyond as the sun began to sink into the horizon.

The beaches near the Rishii village were far less populated than those at Raider’s Cove, which suited Theron just fine. Less chance of pickpockets and pirate rabblerousers interrupting his downtime, and it was far easier for him to discreetly set up some security probes to give him a heads-up if trouble reared its head (he’d _matured_ some, not lost his sense of paranoia and self-preservation). The relative privacy also helped him approach something resembling relaxation, a task same said colleagues at the SIS accused him of being incapable of. Another thing that time had changed.

Or maybe just the Jedi currently playing in the water had.

It was difficult for him to understand, much less put into words, how _that_ had come about. Some days he still didn’t know how he’d gotten anyone, much less the most formidable woman in the galaxy, to fall for him. Nor had he quite sussed out how she hadn’t kicked him to the curb for the stunt he pulled infiltrating the Order of Zildrog—every time he had asked anything close to that question she had just gotten so incredibly frustrated with him she’d seemingly lost the ability to form words. Most of the time he enjoyed provoking such a reaction, but that particular subject had a tendency to produce a dangerous glint in her eye. He decided it wise to not push that particular boundary.

That was part of the reason they were here, back on the planet where they’d officially begun with a harried kiss and confession of feelings. They’d needed to get away from everything and everyone for at least a few days in order to clear their heads. It had taken a long time for things to settle down on Odessen after their return from Nathema. There had been so much political fallout after the destruction of the Fleet and the Gravestone for the Alliance, which would have been enough of a blow by itself. The personal side of things had been more… difficult.

Theron’s entire life had been upended, nearly _ended_ , by his decision to go undercover. That alone would have been enough to deal with, but he’d had to try to repair and re-establish all of the relationships he’d broken, which wasn’t his strongest suit to begin with. He’d faced a lot of scrutiny, tension, and mistrust upon his return. He’d been expecting that. It was a fair tradeoff for keeping everyone in the dark. What he hadn’t expected was quite how overprotective Grey had been in regards to his recovery and reintegration to the Alliance, or exactly how close she’d been pushed to her own breaking point both on Nathema and afterwards.

But he didn’t really want to think about that at the moment. His physical injuries had finally healed, but they both had wounds that ran far beneath the surface, and he wasn’t sure if those scars would ever go away. And there wasn’t much he could do about those by brooding on the beach.

Right now, he just wanted to focus on the feeling of the retreating rays of the sun warming his skin, the perspiration dripping down the bottle in his hand, and the way the droplets of water sparkled in the magenta light as the woman he loved splashed around without a care in the world. And it had been a long, long time since he’d seen her like that, or that he himself didn’t feel the pressing urge to lose himself in a long string of numbers to try and feel like he had some measure of control on the galaxy constantly falling apart around them.

It was nice. 

Not something he’d want to do every single day for the rest of his life, but after the hell that they had both gone through, the break was just what was needed. And not just from the action, but from the day-to-day of the Alliance.  It was easier to clear his head without the expectations and obligations. Here there was only good weather, good beer, and good company.

The day blazed it’s final defiance, lighting up the sky in a brilliant array of orange and pink as the deep blue of nightfall began to seep in from above. He let his toes sink a little further into the warm, loose sand and took a long drag off his ale. He watched with a quirked brow as one of the jets of water flew up unnaturally high into the air. That was definitely not a proper, Jedi-approved use of the Force — although from the wide beaming smile and delighted laugh carried on the soft sea breeze he had a feeling she didn’t care that much about propriety. He couldn’t help but grin a little at that thought, because apparently _she_ had apparently changed quite a bit in the past seven years as well. 

Or maybe evolved was a better word. After all, they hadn’t become completely different people. He knew that he for certain hadn’t lost all of his hang-ups or his faults, although he hoped that maybe he’d sanded down some of his rougher edges so he was at least a _little_ bit less of a pain in the ass now than he had been when they’d started this whole thing.

Absently, Theron played with the label peeling away from the damp bottle, rough calluses working at the cheap adhesive that remained behind. It was a bad habit picked up the past few months, as he’d had far too much time and too little work to occupy his hands with. He’d have to work and drill that nervous tic out before he went back into the field — obvious tells could an undercover agent killed. Although he kind of had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get assigned much more work of that nature any time in the near future. Suited him just fine. He’d had his fill from this last one to last him a _long_ while.

As the last sliver of sun sunk below the surface, Grey seemed to get her fill of the surf, and flopped down on the towel laid out next to him. The fine sand coated her feet and ankles, her face was flushed, and had a fine pink tinge to her skin that probably signaled the appearance of a few more freckles once the sunburn faded. However, the wide smile she fixed him with was unmistakable even as the sky darkened around them and the first of the stars began to twinkle above.

“You have fun?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Maybe,” she allowed, “although perhaps I let myself get a little carried away.”

“What? Are you trying to say that using the Force to draw smiley faces in the water is against the Jedi Code?”

“I did not draw smiley faces,” she insisted, “that was an elegant water sculpture of a thranta.”

“Oh. My apologies to the majestic water thranta.” He shot her a smirk. “Although, aren’t thrantas supposed to fly?”

“Didn’t you see me sending it up into the sky?”

“Well, as long as you set it free.”

She let out an indignant snort and rolled over, hooking her chin on his shoulder as she peered at him. As she had yet to dry off from her time in the water, this wound up soaking his hideous tropical fruit shirt. But seeing as she had bought the thing, he figured she could ruin it if she really wanted to. 

“And what about you? Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Oh yes, I had a _very_ nice view.” He let his voice drop an octave so she would catch onto his more lurid meaning. 

It took a second for that to process, before her already pink cheeks reddened a little and she gave him a rough shove. “Theron Shan!”

“What?” He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. “I was talking about the sunset!”

“You were not.”

“Okay, fine, you got me.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, and he awkwardly craned his neck so he could give it a light peck. The frown eased somewhat, although he had a feeling it was forced at this point. She might pretend to be some perfect Jedi, but over the years he had discovered that act was at least forty percent for show and twenty percent pride. Not exactly the pillars of Jedi virtue. After all, she had agreed to _marry._ Which reminded him of one of the reasons he’d been lounging on the beach.

“So, I know this is probably not the place or time,” he said, clearling his throat, “but I’ve been kind of working on a surprise.”

Her frown eased back into place, although this time it was more puzzled than frustrated. “A surprise?”

“I promise, a good one this time,” he insisted, “at least I hope so.”

A dark blonde brow arched delicately, and he felt his mouth go a little dry. He shouldn’t have been nervous about this, she’d already said _yes_. As far as proposals went, that spur-of-the-moment fumbling mess on the Odessen hillside had was definitely not the smooth and sophisticated one he had briefly given thought to. 

Although if he were being honest with himself, it _should_ have been. He’d never been good with speeches, or timing, or really expressing himself at all. He was a man of action, not words, and so they tripped him up when it was something important. So instead of fumbling over them any more, he just pulled out the little hinged box he’d had stowed away in his pocket this whole trip, that he had been a little too paranoid about leaving behind in their rental cabin, and definitely too paranoid about losing in the surf. Without any more preamble, he handed it over to her before he could change his mind.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

She looked a little skeptical, but popped open the lid, letting out a quiet squeak of surprise. The pair of wedding rings weren’t anything to be found at one of those overpriced jewelry stores that Theron had briefly given a glance the last time he was on Nar Shaddaa. These were rather plain in comparison, but the etched silvery metal still gleamed just as brightly in the starlight. It had taken him quite more work than he’d anticipated, and he’d even had to enlist outside help in order to get them made correctly (from _Arcann_ of all people). 

He still wasn’t sure why he’d brought them, it would have been much safer to leave them in the dresser back on base. Show her his handiwork when they got back, see if she liked them, wanted to actually use them since they hadn’t really had a chance to go peruse jewelry stores or anything. Like many things in his life, he knew he should have tempered his patience, waited a little closer to the actual date. But as he took in the look on her face, maybe the risk had been worth it.

“I, these are… _Theron_ …”

He swallowed past the sudden lump and gave her a sheepish smile. “You didn’t really seem like a diamonds kind of girl. And I figured if you’re going to wear a piece of jewelry for the rest of your life, it might as well reflect you a bit more.”

“There’s a second one in here.”

“Considering the occasion, I thought they should be a matching set.” He shrugged a shoulder. “And mine was kind of the test case to make sure I got the design right.”

“This looks like my lightsabers… how did you…?”

“I... may have done some detailed scans while you were in the shower to get the pattern. And, well, Arcann helped a lot with the metalwork, although he was a little more used to working with a larger canvas. But we managed to make it work.”

“You _made_ these?” Her eyes seemed to bulge out at that. “No, wait. You worked with someone else—with  _Arcann_ to make these?”

“He’s not a bad guy when he’s not trying to murder us all.” Theron gave her a half-smile. “And well… he had a little experience with being an outsider on Odessen. We kind of bonded over that a little. Even formed a little club.”

She didn’t take the bait, though, and was more focused on tracing the delicate patterns he’d painstakingly etched than getting distracted by his humor. “This must have taken you both a long time.”

“Well, I had a little of that on my hands,” he admitted quietly, “and I wanted to do… something. For you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know. But I promised I’d spend the rest of my life making up for what I put you through. I figured this would be a good start to—”

He didn’t even finish the statement before she surged forward and crushed her lips against his, the box containing the innocuous metal rings clutched tightly in her hand. It was still an awkward angle, but he didn’t care, tangling his fingers through her damp hair as he deepened the kiss. Words he didn’t have, but _this,_ this was where he could pour everything he felt into what he couldn’t say.

After a while she broke away, and it took him a few moments to catch his breath. “So, I guess that means you like them.”

She shook her head at him, exasperation warring with the clear and honest affection she couldn’t disguise. “Of course I do.”

“Too bad we have to wait until we’re in front of a crowd to put them on.”

“Says who?”

“Well, tradition mostly. And the guest list Senya forced us to put together. Not to mention the five million floral patterns I had to wade through before she found the ‘right’ one. Those Zakuulans really love to plan a big party, don’t they?”

“Please don’t remind me about that. I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking about it.”

“You too, huh?” The thought of so many people staring at him while he attempted to vocalize his innermost feelings was more than just a _little_  paralyzing. He tugged lightly at the damp strands of hair falling out of her ponytail, a very bad thought occurring to him. “You want to skip all that?”

“Stars _yes_ —wait. Can we do that?”

“Elope? Yes. Who’s going to stop us?”

“I don’t know if anyone will stop us, but I have a feeling we will have a very upset wedding planner when we get back.”

“Eh, she’ll probably just blame me. She _likes_ you.”

“She likes you too,” Grey corrected with a hint of irritability. “She and the others are just excited, I know that. But I don’t need a big party. I would have been fine with just a marriage droid as our witness. Would have preferred it actually, when I recall that Senya added your _mother_  to the invite list. I mean she _knew_ about us, yes, but this is just flaunting it and I am fairly certain I am never getting back into the Jedi Order at this rate—”

He cut her off before she ran out of breath. “I think any word from my mother on Jedi attachment might come off a little hypocritical at the wedding of her illegitimate love child.”

“Maybe so.”

“And sure, if we elope we might run the risk of pissing off a Zakuulan enforcer who can kick my ass three times over. But hey, I’m willing to take that chance if you are.”

“I will protect you if it comes down to that,” she said resolutely. “That is the point of this, right?”

“So I hear.” Warmth blossomed in his chest at that thought, and he brushed his thumb across her jaw to try and distract himself from it. “I’m pretty sure there’s a man, or at least bird, of the cloth over in the village. It doesn’t matter to me where we get married or who’s watching—just as long as you’re the one standing next to me.”

The stars above seemed to sparkle in her eyes as she stared at him with that look that always seemed to take his breath away. Like she was uttering those three simple words without ever saying anything aloud. “Well, it’s not too late yet. And it doesn’t hurt to ask if that’s something they can do, right?”

Theron laughed, and pulled her in for another quick kiss. “I like the way you think, Master Jedi.”

They had to take a few extra minutes to clean up their mess on the beach, and drop a few things at their rental cabin, before they were picking their way further up the shoreline. Seven years ago, he wouldn’t have imagined himself in this scenario, never could have dreamed up the changes the years would bring. But as they walked, hand-in-hand along the sand with only the stars to light their way forward—he found that he couldn’t have asked for anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rearranged chapters 15 and 16 so they appear in the correct order (since I wrote them out of order, oops. Hopefully that's not too confusing for returning readers!)


	16. Rishi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "Accidentally Sleeping In" on Tumblr. Set post 5.9/Nathema Conspiracy, major spoilers for that installment.

Sunlight filtered in through the open window, the beam having slowly traveled its way through the room over the course of the morning and had finally reached the point where it was shining directly onto one of the occupants. Her eyes slowly opened, and for the briefest of moments, she felt disoriented in the relative brightness and watched the dust motes dance in the air.

Mornings on Odessen’s underground base always started dark, the air just a little stale due to the constant recirculation that left a chill on her skin. The air here it was fresh and filled with the salty tang of the nearby ocean, the gentle sea breeze wafting in through the open window chasing away the warmth and humidity settling in as the morning crept on. The draft was just cool enough that it would have sent gooseflesh along her skin. However she only let out the briefest of shivers before the warmth of the body behind her shifted, his tall form conforming to the curve of her spine, and one arm curling protectively around her torso.

The action was so close to a normal lazy morning, she might have thought him still asleep if it wasn’t for the feel of his lips pressing against her neck, kisses traveling slowly upwards until he was nuzzling her ear.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Grey murmured quietly.

“You were cold,” Theron’s words were muffled by the constant stream of sleepy kisses, “and I have to take care of my bride.”

He accentuated the statement by pulling her closer to him, nose burying itself into her hair as if he was settling in for another round of sleep. A flush of warmth raced through her at the word, an unfamiliar term, one she’d never pictured herself being, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Just unexpected, in the best way possible.

His fingers absently traced the long healed scar over her abdomen that eerily mirrored his latest one. The inflamed pink on hers had long faded into a pale uneven silvery-white pucker that marred the otherwise smooth skin. His matching scar was still fading, the healing patches of skin still a little tender to the touch. Some of the more ragged and raised bumps were trying to harden and required a small daily application of kolto to try and prevent the keloid from setting into something permanent, hard, and painful. When he curled in close like this, skin-to-skin, she could feel his scars pressing up against hers. They nearly lined up perfectly, their exit wounds pressing up against each other as if some strange cosmic twist had brought them together.

Battle scars from near-fatal wounds were not a normal thing for a married couple to share.

She much preferred the matching set of rings, and let her hand drift down to his, hearing the satisfying clink of metal. The lips pressing against her ear curled up into a smirk, and he twined his fingers through hers, absently stroking the delicate carvings that had been painstakingly etched into the small piece of metal. It was beautiful craftsmanship, and she would have to remember to thank Arcann for lending his expertise in Theron’s attempt to make something unique and special. One of the many sweet and well-meaning gestures he’d gone through since his return to the Alliance.

She let out a long sigh and leaned back slightly, as if that could somehow wrap herself further into the warmth of her… husband’s embrace. That was still new, still strange—and yet fitting. Most of the past few months had felt that way, as if they had both been slowly rediscovering who they were, both together and apart, healing the wounds inflicted on them both physical and emotional. The ‘impromptu’ vacation to Rishi, back where they had begun, had seemed like a perfect escape from everything that had happened over the past year. Even if it was probably the first real vacation that either of them had taken in a long time—if ever.

They’d relaxed in the sun during the day, splashed about in the ocean, and wandered along the beach, hand in hand with nothing but the stars above them. Without any impending crisis or doom looming on the horizon, they’d had time to finally exist and just  _be_. It wasn’t even a question that this was the perfect place to start their new beginning.

Stars, she was pretty sure at least half of Odessen was going to have a conniption fit when they got back. Senya had been so supportive, so ecstatic for the upcoming nuptials — all too happy to fill in the maternal void that had long been left in Grey’s life. Hylo had been making some big-to-do about Theron’s bachelor party, Koth likely planning to act as getaway pilot for whatever hijinks the Logistics wing had come up with. Lana had been curiously neutral on the whole subject, but then again elaborate parties and fairy tale weddings weren’t exactly her style. Grey knew the feeling.

“This is perfect,” she said.

“ _You’re_  perfect.”

There should have been a flash of annoyance at that, his insistence that she was somehow more elevated or pure than she  _actually_  was, but his meaning was carried low in his voice, in the way he pulled her closer, in how just their renewed proximity lit up a different kind of heat low in her belly. She rolled over, and the disgruntled noise he made at the break in contact was quickly silenced as she closed in the distance. Their limbs tangled together as she pulled him in for a slow, gentle kiss, trying to savor the moment — and make this perfect quiet morning stretch out as long as possible.

When they finally broke apart, he took a few moments to stare at her with the full intensity he always focused on everything with. His eyes were soft though, not glinting hard like when he was working through a problem. He was open in a way that he never allowed himself to be with anyone else. This was him at his core, naked honesty laid bare. She had missed so much about him when he had been gone — but this was the part she had missed most. It was hard to do or say anything when he looked at her like that. Like looking into the heart of a star, it was so bright she wanted to look away but somehow couldn’t, and tied her insides up in knots in a way nothing else could.

He never had to say “I love you” aloud, because he practically shouted it from the rooftops whenever he looked at her like that. Words had always seemed to be something he struggled with, at least it was when the emotion behind them was real. She couldn’t say that was exactly a foreign feeling as her own words often got caught in her throat. That depth of feeling too hard to quantify with her meager vocabulary. So instead she laid a hand on his cheek, and hopefully returned his smile with one-tenth of the intensity of his.

He turned, lips gracing across her palm. “Good morning.”

“It is a good one,” she agreed quietly, “although it’s rapidly getting away from us.”

“There are worse things,” he murmured, “than spending time with my wife.”

She flushed at that, the title still strange and awkward to her ears. She wondered how long it would take for it to settle in and feel natural. “You don’t have some pressing business with a pirate somewhere you need to get to?”

“Not unless you remembered to bring that outfit from your Red Hull days.”

“Why would I bring that?”

“Hey, you just really got into the whole pirate thing last time we were here. Wasn’t sure if you had some sort of secret fetish.”

“ _Theron_!” She was  _not_  turning red, she wasn’t—but his smug grin said otherwise. “I don’t—I…”

“If you want to wear an ornamental eyepatch for the duration of our honeymoon, I’m not going to stop you.” The stupid jerk was openly grinning, clearly trying to fight down his mirth. “I just want to be supportive.”

“I was just getting into character!”

“Oh, so it’s role playing you’re into then?”

“No, I—it wasn’t—”

He finally lost the fight and let out a sharp bark of laughter, and quickly followed it up by trying to physically kiss away the deep frown that he had just induced. She let out a heavy sigh and shook her head.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me?”

She tried to remain irritated, but found it melting away as he flashed her the biggest set of puppy dog eyes that she could never turn away from. It was such a normal moment, lacking all of the gravitas that had leaked into all of their personal interactions over nearly the past year.

“I suppose I do,” she said after a moment, “even if you get far too much enjoyment out of teasing me.”

“Maybe I just want to see how far that blush will go down.”

“I would think you’d have your answer by now.”

“Maybe, but still haven’t gotten tired of seeing it yet.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, still watching her with that same mixture of adoration and boyish glee that was such a rare but cherished sight to see. “Pretty sure I’m not going to at this point.”

She could have continued with the banter, let the conversation meander on naturally as it always did, but instead she decided to just lean into the moment, breath out on his inhale, and breath in on his exhale, until it seemed like they were exchanging one long, continuous breath, and it wasn’t clear where he stopped and she began. Just like it used to be, how it always should have been.

It was her who finally broke the moment, the words out of her mouth before she’d even had time to consider them. “There’s a part of me that wishes we could stay here forever.”

He blinked, quiet for a moment, as he parsed the statement, but then gently reached forward and brushed at the bangs that had fallen into her eyes. “What part of you says that?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly, glancing down to where their fingers were still twined together, “the part that just wants to start every day like this. Just you and me, not weighed down by the rest of the galaxy.”

“You wouldn’t get bored?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, then looked back at him. “Probably as bored as you would get.”

He shrugged a shoulder lightly, although she couldn’t tell if it was meant to be in agreement or not. “I’m adaptable. Wherever you go, I go, remember? For better or for worse—you’re stuck with me.”

Her smile was bittersweet, remembering the night long ago when she had contemplated running away from it all as the weight of the galaxy pressed in all around her. It was not her proudest moment, she knew what duty dictated of her—knew that there had been too many counting on her to pull off some miracle that she herself had no hope of accomplishing alone. But they had done it together somehow, her, the Alliance—Theron. 

The man willing to give up everything including his life to keep her safe. Had come dangerously close to doing just that. 

There was a stinging behind her eyes that she refused to give into, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat and hoped that he hadn’t noticed. He was so happy right now, she couldn’t ruin it by getting sucked back into could-have-beens.

“I love you,” she said after a long moment, “and I just want more days like this.”

Theron’s expression softened from the carefully composed expression of nonchalance into the man who hid underneath all of the prickly layers he presented to the outside world. “I do too—maybe… we can do that.”

At her frown, he continued.

“I know we’re laying low right now, and that’s not going to last forever… but what if we compromise?”

“How so?”

“We buy a place here, somewhere only you and I know. And when it gets too crazy—we slip away for a while. At least until we catch our breath.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a vacation you’re talking about. More than one in fact. Didn’t think you took those.”

“Look who’s talking,” he tossed back, “but I’m serious. You shouldn’t have to run yourself ragged like you have been. You didn’t ask for anything that was thrown at you—and I just made a vow in front of a somewhat questionable Rishii priest that I’d take care of you no matter what.”

She couldn’t fight down the blush or smile, and tried to redirect the attention elsewhere. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure anything we did last night is legally binding.”

“Hey, we’re married now, so in my book  _everything_ we did was all very much legal.” His wink was a little lurid, and she caught onto his meaning, the warmth rushing back to her cheeks as she remembered in fairly vivid detail what ‘everything’ entailed, including the interlude on the balcony. 

“I was talking about the marriage license.”

“We can double-check the paperwork later. Right now… I’m happy to continue our honeymoon. That is… unless you’re really wanting to go visit the hall of records at this very moment.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” She caught his laugh in a quick kiss. “I suppose it can wait a little bit longer.”

“At least until this afternoon?” He tried.

“Maybe tomorrow — no rush, right?”

“For you? I have all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rearranged chapters 15 and 16 so they appear in the correct order (since I wrote them out of order, oops. Hopefully that's not too confusing for returning readers!)


	17. Malfunctions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Gravestone lift malfunctions temporarily trapping OC and Lana, Theron, and/or Koth
> 
> Takes place sometime on the journey back to Odessen during KOTET Chapter V. Contains a small reference to part of Unsent Correspondence (although that’s probably not necessary reading to follow).

“Stupid piece of junk,” Theron snarled, punching at the button again. He had already been in a sore mood before the damn lift had malfunctioned and effectively trapped them there.

“That ‘piece of junk’ can probably hear you,” came the sage reply from the person responsible for his current mood. “You might want to speak with a little more respect.”

“It’s a spaceship,” he snapped, “I doubt it’s listening.”

“SCORPIO said that the Gravestone is very intellig—”

“Hang what that conniving bucket of bolts said!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Why am I—?” 

He cut himself off, mouth shutting with an audible click before he turned back to the lift controls and savagely smashed his hand on the button again to take out his spike of aggression. Maybe if he hit it hard enough it the door would suddenly pop open. Or at the very least take away the red haze that tinted his vision. He’d been attempting to go walk off his foul mood in one of the many long, lonely corridors of the Gravestone when she’d joined him in the lift, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he didn’t want company. 

“Theron,” the Jedi’s voice dropped to a low, concerned tone, “why are you so angry? Did I do something that upset you?”

He pierced her with a glare, snorting out an angry breath as he tried to reel his temper back in. A cramped, broken lift was _not_ the place to have this conversation, but apparently their semi-sentient spaceship had other ideas. Or, more likely, was suffering some unforeseen aftereffects from their recent escape from that deathtrap of a planet where it had been built.

She reached out to touch his arm in her typical gesture of conciliation and calm, but he jerked it away, although he couldn’t really escape in the small confined space. The action drew a small sound of surprise and her brows drew together in a mixture of guilt and hurt that almost penetrated the angry haze that had descended over him. Almost. 

He was not going to let this go, no matter how big of puppy dog eyes she flashed him.

When he finally thought he had a handle on his temper, he managed to grind out, “Did you _do_ something? You mean other than order me to leave you to _die_?”

Grey swallowed hard at the sharp edge in his tone, eyes still a little too wide and blue for him to completely ignore. “I—I was trying to _protect_ you and everyone else aboard the Gravestone. Considering the risks I thought it best that—”

“That you sacrifice yourself needlessly?”

“It’s not needless if everyone else survives. You had an opening to leave—”

“How is you playing martyr again an _opening_?”

She flinched at that. “Playing martyr? Is that what you think I do?”

“No, I… damn it!” He slammed his fist back against the sealed door. It didn’t budge, but he was pretty sure something in his hand did if the spike of pain that lanced up it was anything to go by. He couldn’t suppress the foul curse as he cradled it, but refused to turn around and face the concerned expression he could feel burning into his back. 

He could still very painfully remember the last time he’d been this pissed off, and the reason why was standing right behind him. At least that time he’d had an entire bottle of fine Corellian whiskey that he could blame for his destructive behavior—he could try to attribute his temper on genetics, say it was inherited from the Revan genes, or maybe even the Malcolm side of the family—but that would be a lie. This time it was all him. And unfortunately the reason for his angry outburst this time and the last was bearing full witness to his darker side.

It was an ugly part of him that he’d tried to control, tried to shove away ever since they started the Alliance. Considering the makeup of their motley crew back on Odessen, he’d found himself falling back on the old lessons of Master Zho more than he’d ever thought he would. He used to be much more practical, more ready to sacrifice pieces of the dejarik board if it meant things came out in the favor of his side. But somewhere along the line something had changed, and the dejarik pieces had started to resemble actual people instead of some abstract concept. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d taken a more hands-on approach than he had during his time with the SIS, if it was brought on by the hard years as the Eternal Fleet flattened everything around him, or if it was due to the influence of the woman currently staring a hole in his back. 

Either way, he didn’t want to slide back into the angry, despondent man he’d been after Ziost. After Zakuul.

But unfortunately want didn’t translate into action, and he could still feel the desperation and fury crawling under his skin like an iknayid scurrying through its web. Could feel it in every beat of his heart, every pulse of blood in his veins. As if his anger and sorrow was trying to break free from the chains he was desperately trying to lock down. He tried to swallow it back and focus on the pain in his hand. Unfortunately that surged on every thump of his heart, accentuated by the rise in his blood pressure.

This was the moment where he was supposed to take a breath. Supposed to calm down and reflect. Supposed to recite some ancient code that ultimately didn’t apply to him due to some fluke of genetics. All it did was amplify every sensation on every lungful he took in. Pull in every wave of fury on each cadence — until it was almost too much to ignore. Instead of calming down, he focused in on the pain in his hand, tried to hold on to each flare of it to anchor himself in the moment. He wanted to run out the doors barring his escape and lose himself in these ancient halls until he found himself again in the calm of solitude.

But he couldn’t escape his irrational anger — and neither could she.

“Theron…”

Her voice blended into the too sharp memory of their escape from Iokath, of the thoughtless words barked out over the comm. _Forget about me, Theron. The Alliance can’t lose the Gravestone._

Forget… he’d _never_ been able to forget. No matter how hard he’d tried. And oh, he had tried. With every shot of whiskey, every foolhardy mission, he’d tried so damn hard to forget it all, but he’d never been able to banish her face whenever he’d closed his eyes.

_And I can’t lose you!_

Because he’d already done that once—and it had nearly killed him. Some stupid ancient warship was a pale comparison to the most important thing in his life. Something he’d never imagined he’d have another chance with. Because it was only after she was gone that it had hit him in full. The full feeling of everything that they’d had, of everything that they’d lost. That acute sense of unfulfilled promise had haunted his every step, every waking moment forever a shadow of what could have been. An unending nightmare that had plagued him right up until the moment that he’d been told of his second chance.

A second chance that in the heat of battle she’d been willing to ignore—willing to throw away. For _what_? What survival did anyone have without her at the helm of their unsteady ship against Zakuul? What chance did _he_ have each morning without her to remind him of what he was fighting for? He’d seen the cold and hollow expanse of the galaxy stretching before him endlessly — that path too long and full of shadows he’d long tired of fighting by himself.

He barely registered when he’d turned sharply on his heel, or how he’d crowded into her space as he’d cornered her against the wall. An action more forceful and bold than he usually took as indicated by her sharp inhale. The crush of his lips against hers was not an act of kindness but more something borne of desperation. He didn’t have the words for the tangle of emotions swirling around him. He _never_ had the words no matter how desperately he wanted them. All he had was what he was able to put into action, as frantic and inarticulate as it was, he could only hope it somehow translated.

She should have pushed back against him, shoved him up against the doors he’d been uselessly pounding against in his attempt to escape as she was so very capable of. She could flatten him in an instant, without so much of a thought if she really wanted to. That she could have done that, but was ever so restrained somehow fueled his thirst further.

Her stillness, her hesitation, only lasted for the briefest of moments. Likely as she took in the action and tried to render the wordless struggle into some sort of logical equation. He felt her understanding kick in the moment her fingers curled into his neck, the pressure of her rough calluses against his soft, vulnerable skin almost painful. Her kiss in return was almost as hard as his, surprisingly unrelenting and powerful as if she couldn’t articulate something herself.

It wasn’t an apology. Not exactly. But Theron could swear that he tasted the regret on her tongue, even if her mouth never actually formed the word sorry.

He broke contact first, chest pounding wildly as his lungs heaved with the lack of air. He registered, almost barely, the feel of her forehead resting into the crook of his neck like a wilting flower going to rest. His throat was dry, and it took several swallows before he was able to speak properly.

“Don’t you ever ask me to do that again.” The firmness in voice wavered, cracking with an emotion he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. “Please.”

The last single word was almost as desperate and loud as the mad thumping of his heart trying to leap out of his chest. He would have tried to silence it, but his traitorous tongue had already stopped listening his commands.

“I… won’t.” Her speech was stuttered, although he couldn’t tell if it was because of the impromptu makeout session, or the emotion tinging her own voice.

Suddenly realizing how horribly awkward and imposing he’d been, he tried to put distance between he two to them but she held on to the collar of his jacket with a firm, unyielding grip. He swallowed, and looked down into her wide blue eyes. Some unquantifiable depth of emotion lurked there, but despite all his spy training he wasn’t able to decipher exactly what it meant. Just that it was meant for him.

“Do you think you can find out why the lift is broken?” The hushed tone of her question belied the intensity of the gaze she had him pinned with.

“Maybe,” he said hoarsely, “with a little time.”

“I don’t want to wait long,” she whispered. “Nor do I want to risk the rest of this being interrupted by an unwitting bystander.”

Somehow without actually speaking her intent, he understood what she meant all too clear. And the cramped quarters of a broken lift, while entertaining and thrilling for a brief amount of time, were not adequate to the emotions surging through him that he could freely express in the privacy of her quarters.

“Although,” she said after a moment, “we should probably find some kolto for your hand.”

“You have a little stowed away in your quarters, don’t you?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I might,” she said, “but wouldn’t you rather—”

“No,” he said firmly, “it can wait. Trust me.”

“Always.” The smile she graced him with lit up the cramped confines of the lift. “But I must insist on making sure you are cared for.”

Of course she did. It was one of the many reasons he couldn’t bear the thought of facing a day without her by his side. Despite the pain and everything else surging through him, he leaned forward and gave her a much gentler peck on the lips than he had before, earning the quiet smile he loved seeing so much. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes,” she said, “lets.”

With another breath, this one much smoother and more controlled, he turned back to the stubborn controls that had so far eluded his control. It only took a few moments before he was able to isolate the problem and restore the programming. With a firm press of the finger from his good hand, the door swished open to the proper floor. She grasped his uninjured fingers firmly, pulling them free of their confines and leading him back towards the privacy of her quarters—where he could adequately express the full range of emotions he’d been trying to push away, and let her know exactly how needed she was over any warship or the needs of the galaxy.

The quiet, dimpled smile she flashed back at him as she led the way let him know that the need was more than mutual. And the last of his anger bled away, replaced with a much deeper, and more undeniable emotion that he’d be able to let loose once they reached the confines of her quarters. 

That.

That was something he’d gladly set free.


	18. Reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "This place has too many reminders of you" for Theron, post-Nathema.

It was possible this was a bad idea, Theron thought to himself, rounding the third corner as he slowly and painfully shuffled through the corridors on Odessen. 

The mix of kolto and heavy-grade painkillers kept the worst of it to a dull, muted thud that pulsed with each step he took, and as long as he didn’t try to run—or jog, or walk with anything approaching a quickness—his injury didn’t flare up into full-blown agony. The fact that he had to move so gingerly and with such care was probably an indicator that he shouldn’t have left the infirmary, but he’d never exactly let logic and sound reasoning stop him before. Why start now?

It was also possible he was a little bit feverish and maybe a tiny bit high from the painkillers. Details details.

The looks he was getting from those walking the halls were a mix of disdain, suspicion, and alarm. He should have expected it, _had_ expected it, but it still stung nonetheless. These people had been his friends, or at least coworkers and acquaintances before. They had actually looked to him — _him_ of all people — for guidance and leadership. And to them he’d betrayed them. Part of him wished he didn’t care about their opinions, because really, it was just one person in particular whose feelings he wanted to focus on right now.

It was the real reason why Theron had wheedled and cajoled permission from Dorne to take a “short walk”, as he had technically not been released from the infirmary yet. It was a miracle he had survived being impaled with Vinn Atrius’s lightsaber pike — and as amazing and fantastic at healing as kolto was, that wasn’t the sort of wound that even he could just walk off. He probably could have sat submerged in the tank for another week or two _easily_ , but everything in his mind was just a mess.

He had… snatches of confusing imagery in his mind. Someone silently sobbing in the back of a shuttle. Rubble and ruin falling around him on Nathema as he called out to his friends. Odessen in flames. Running endlessly, never able to catch up as the woman he loved walked away from him, never once looking back. 

Theron wasn’t sure what was memory, what was nightmare, and more important than any of that, where he stood with a certain blonde Jedi. Part of him had been expecting her to be there when he woke up, and couldn’t ignore the deep pang in his chest when the chair that had been dragged next to his cot was empty. He could have sworn that he’d heard her in his dreams when he’d been under — but maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. Considering the circumstances for his extended absence from the base, he probably shouldn’t have expected _anyone_ to be waiting for him to wake up.

And yet everywhere he looked, all he saw was her. 

The walls here were lined with memories, as if they had laid down something together, stone by weathered stone. That corner in the War Room was where he’d made her promise to be careful before she’d gone to face off with Arcann the first time Odessen was attacked. That was the darkened corner he’d stolen a kiss and embrace from her after a particularly harrowing mission to take out one of the many Star Fortresses. This was the hallway he’d had to carry her through after she’d had far too many shots during the Eternal Alliance’s celebration party, where she’d drunkenly rambled on about how much she loved him.

And if she didn’t—he swallowed—feel that way anymore… he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

Before Odessen, before the Alliance, he’d never really felt like he’d had a home before. With the SIS he’d had a place, he had belonged, sort of, but it wasn’t the same as what he’d had here. Nothing would if he were being honest to himself. And yet… 

This place had too many reminders. 

Even if she accepted him back into the Alliance, let him stay and walk these halls freely, would he really be able to stay amongst all of the reminders of a happier time? Perhaps it would be proper penance for what he’d done. It couldn’t be atonement if it didn’t hurt, right?

There would never be a painkiller in the galaxy strong enough to dull that particular pain.

He blinked. Once, twice. And swallowed a few times for good measure as he continued his slow, steady trek towards his uncertain future. Getting himself ready, prepared for what awaited him around that final corner. Because as he dragged himself into the military hangar, suspiciously empty compared to the activity it had contained when he’d left, he saw his quarry up on the overlook. Saw her talking to Lana, shoulders hunched and expression drained. Tired and haunted in a way he’d never really seen before, not even when Valkorion had haunted her every step.

He took a deep breath—or as deep as a still healing abdominal wound would allow—and began to limp up the ramp as Lana’s remarks about taking a break echoed across the nearly empty hangar.

It was such a laughable thought, he couldn’t help but throw in a comment. “Like you’ve ever taken a break in your life.”

They both stopped their conversation at his approach. He could feel Lana’s glare and unimpressed arch of the brow as he grabbed ahold of the railing to help aid his ascent, but it was the other woman’s reaction, the way she whirled around, eyes widening as a smile lit up her face. She called out his name in a mixture of delight, relief, and greeting, and for the briefest of moments, all of the shadows, on her face, in his heart, fled.

Maybe there was some hope for him after all.


	19. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Fictober, for the prompt: “Take what you need.”

Theron bolted upright with a start, the spike of fear and adrenaline from the dream drowning everything out for a moment, before the pain blossomed in his abdomen like a fire being stoked. It hit him so fast he couldn’t choke down the small cry, and began to curl in on himself instinctively.

“Shh, I’ve got you.”

Her arms circled around him, gently guiding him to a position that was more comfortable for his injury. It didn’t ease the pain roiling through his abdomen and radiating out his back, but it didn’t aggravate it either. She urged him to relax against her, let her take on her weight, and in the dark and privacy of their room, he let her.

The vestiges of his nightmare faded away as she urged him to breathe in with her, and then breathe out. This was a new variation on the one he’d had during his time in the Order. Her walking away, faster than he could keep up with no matter how fast he ran. He kept calling out, but she continued to walk into the flames of Odessen. Could only watch as his home and love and entire life went up in smoke. His sleep in kolto had been peaceful, undisturbed, but this was his first night back in bed. The intensity of the nightmare was probably a side effect of the heavy pain killers, although his evening dose seemed like it had worn off.

Sitting up should never have been this difficult or painful, and sudden jerky movements only made it worse. In fact, most basic motor functions he’d taken for granted in his life were now a struggle. He was lucky to be alive, being impaled like he had, but the recovery on this injury was probably the worst he’d ever gone through.

He hated this feeling. Being so weak that the simplest, most basic task of sitting up in a bed was practically a marathon effort. Kolto was a miracle drug and could do many things, but his body still had to rebuild the muscles that had been damaged, and that took time. And patience. A virtue he’d never really embraced. He much preferred to jump through a window than take the time to open a door—but jumping required a little more coordination and muscle strength than he had right now.

“How bad is the pain?” She asked as she dutifully checked both his back and abdomen for any sign that he’d re-opened his wound.

“It’s okay,” he swallowed. “I’ll live.”

“Theron,” her voice took on a chiding tone, “I just need to know if you tore anything and we need to take you to the medbay.”

“Not that bad,” he ground out, “I just need a few moments.”

“Take what you need.” The reprimand faded into a soft understanding. “I know how painful recovery from this injury is.”

Which was a funny thing, usually people didn’t survive lightsaber impalements long enough to become experts on the recovery of them. But she had forged that path before him, like she had so many others. Of course, she’d had a malevolent Force ghost that was trapped in her head to lend a little assistance with the healing process. But even with the help of the unnatural, recovery was still recovery. At least he had her with him when these moments cropped up—she hadn’t had that. He could only hope it was less painful for her than this. Less isolating.

Theron reached up and threaded his fingers through hers, still focused on his breathing as the sharp flames of the pain dulled to a deep, throbbing ache. She laid her chin on his shoulder, her soft hairs tickling his ear as she sat with him quietly, giving him an anchor to something beyond the haze of drugs and pain that had become his days. Some emotion welled up inside of him; deeper than affection, far beyond gratitude. Eclipsing the simple definitions he had stowed away in his emotional vocabulary.

Before all this had happened, he’d known he’d loved her. Probably more intense and stupid than was rational considering the lengths he had been willing to go to keep her safe. If that had been love, this was… he didn’t know. It was like there was no limit to the depths of this feeling, like he just kept diving deeper and deeper into an endless ocean. He guessed it was love. Just somehow both softer and fiercer than it had ever been before.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said after a while.

“It is all right,” her voice was soft. “I wasn’t asleep yet.”

A glance at the chronometer told him it was barely two in the morning. From the dark circles that had been gathering under her eyes, he was starting to suspect that sleep had been eluding her for a much longer time than that. Theron wasn’t sure if the cause was her trying to take care of him — or if it ran deeper than that, rooted in the hell he’d put her through. Part of him wanted to ask, although another part of him was afraid of the answer. His intelligence training had made him an expert at breaking things — and he was very good at that. He’d neglected to ever learn how to put something back together.

He wanted to apologize, again, maybe for the thousandth time, but she’d requested that he stop doing that. But his mind was still too muddled, coherency fragmented and torn apart like his painfully slow healing body. So instead, he just spoke the truth. At least the only one that seemed relevant.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You are Theron Shan.” She pressed her lips against his cheek, lingering there for a long moment. “And you love me. That will always be enough reason to deserve mine in return.”


	20. Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Fictober for the prompt: "Can you feel this?"
> 
> Takes place during the KotFE timeskip.

It had turned to autumn on Tythos Ridge, and the blazing reds and oranges of the foliage provided a stark contrast to the stillness. Leaves crunched underfoot, the sound almost deafening in Theron Shan’s ears as he skulked through the abandoned grounds. Everywhere he looked he saw the ghosts of the Jedi Order, plucked apart and scattered among the stars now. No more Knights to valiantly save the day. They and the rest had been stomped to the ground, felled under the endless onslaught of Zakuul. 

There were no heroes left in the Galaxy. Just the people who had been left behind. Still trying to pick up the pieces.

His hand drifted to the weight on the inner pocket of his jacket, and he swallowed, before pulling out the and flicking on the holoportrait. The likeness of a young woman shimmered to life, and his breath caught in his throat now just like it did every time. The cape on the three-dimensional model didn’t flutter in the slight breeze, it just shimmered as the refracted light was disturbed by dust swirling in the air. 

But for a few moments, he could pretend that the shimmering imperfections of the hologram were real movement. Real life.

“Can you feel this? This emptiness?” His question was just a hoarse whisper. “Can you feel anything there at all? Wherever it is you Jedi go when you—”

His voice caught on a sudden lump in his throat, and the chill breeze picked up around him. The holo flickered with it, still silent. Like always, it had no answers for any of his questions. 

Just painful reminders of what had been lost.


	21. First Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Fictober for the prompt: “People like you have no imagination.”
> 
> Takes place pre-Vanilla, around 2 ATC.

“Look, I was just trying to—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Marcus Trant finished forcibly escorting his charge out of the supposedly “secure” meeting room, “we’ve already had this discussion before, and it looks like we’re going to have it again. But first I’d like to finish going over state secrets without unauthorized personnel listening in.”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay there. Right there. Don’t move. Don’t say a word. And for once in your fifteen years of life do what you’re told!”

Theron Shan snorted out an angry breath, ready to argue further, or at least point out he would be sixteen in just a few weeks—but something in his mentor’s look was enough to break through even his stubborn temper and he shut his jaw with a click.

“Teenagers,” Marcus muttered testily as he slammed his hand on the door’s control. “I can only assume _yours_ is better behaved, Master Jedi.”

The door slid shut with a click, leaving Theron glaring at the plasteel as if it had personally offended him. He hadn’t been trying to hear _what_ they were talking about, just prove to the SIS Bureau Chief, and soon-to-be agency director (once the paperwork finished going through), that he wasn’t some punk kid to be shoved off to the sidelines. Between his childhood training and what he’d picked up on his own since then, he was more than ready to take the entrance exam and start _formally_ training to become an operative. Except Marcus kept mentioning the pointless “minimum age requirement” and reminding Theron that the Senate didn’t have a fund set aside for a babysitting subdivision of the SIS.

He heaved a sigh and spun on his heel skulking into the hallway, arms firmly crossed against his chest. Well, whether or not Marcus would admit it, Theron _had_ proved his point. With just the bare minimum of slicing tools and an old datapad he’d been able to gain access to the duct system in this decaying relic and gained access to a secure room. Imagine what he’d be able to accomplish if they gave him _actual_ tools and an objective.

“I thought you were told to not move,” a soft voice came from his right.

He turned to see a little freckled waif sitting cross-legged on a bench set back against the wall. The girl was dressed in the typical simple tunic of a Jedi Padawan, dirty blonde hair swept up into a ponytail. The hands resting on her knees and closed eyes indicated that she was meditating—or had been prior to the loud interruption. Her long gangly legs tangled together awkwardly as she tried to mimic the grace and detachment of a fully-grown Jedi, but she couldn’t have been much older than twelve. Almost the exact age he had been before he’d been kicked to the curb.

He already didn’t like her.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” he snapped.

“I apologize,” she intoned, still not cracking open an eye. “I thought you had forgotten your father’s instructions. I will let you disregard them if that is your wish.”

“He’s not my dad!”

“Oh. I had assumed because of the family resemblance.”

“You haven’t even opened your eyes,” Theron pointed out sourly. “How can you see any resemblance, or lack of in this case, without _looking_?”

“Well, you are both very loud. You have that in common.”

He couldn’t help but wonder that if he’d been born with the Force if he would have turned into such an irritating, pompous little twerp like this Padawan. Maybe life had done him a favor, because it had spared him having to deal with this type of pomposity day-in and day-out from what would have been his peers.

“Yeah, well you’re meditating wrong.”

Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as if trying to both ignore him and maintain her concentration. “I am simply trying to open myself to the Force and see what it sees.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Less successful since your arrival.”

“Maybe it’d work out better if you tucked your feet under your knees instead of sitting on them.”

Her eyes snapped open and she regarded him with a glare filled with far more heat than proper Jedi decorum allowed for. Another thing he didn’t miss. “I do this for five hours a day—I don’t need pointers from some… some… _hall_ boy!”

“Hall boy?” Theron snorted indignantly. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

“You are a boy, and you are in a hall. It fits!”

“Man, it’s true what they say.” He met her narrowed gaze with a tilt of his chin. “You people really do have no imagination.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“You spend half your day sitting and thinking big thoughts—”

“It’s like a third!” She tried to correct him.

“—and the best you can come up with to insult someone is a literal description of where we’re standing. That’s just pathetic. You could have called me a twat, or a jerk, or a scuzzbucket, or an asshole.”

“I can’t say any of that… it’s rude!”

“And you’ve proven my point,” he scoffed and turned away. “You all pretend to hide behind niceties and manners, but when it comes down to it, you’re all a bunch of hypocrites.”

“You don’t even know me,” she insisted with a huff. “You’re just angry you got caught sneaking around where you weren’t supposed to!”

He bristled at the insinuation, the truth in the words cutting a little too close to his already wounded pride. “Yeah, well at least I’m _doing_ something, rather than just sitting around and meditating incorrectly—”

Her cheeks flamed red as they flared out. “This is a proper technique! Master Dae said so!”

“Just keep telling yourself that.” He whirled back around to pin the little pip-squeak with just as fierce a glare as the one she was directing at him. “And keep on meditating, right up until the point you suddenly find yourself kicked to the curb because you fail one of their little tests.”

Maybe he should have backed off, she was just a kid after all, and clearly a naive one at that. But another part of him knew that he was just doing her a favor. Letting her know how the world _really_ worked before she got blindsided like he had. No one had done him that sort of kindness. Just kept feeding him false hope. That was worse than having to swallow a little cold, harsh truths before it was too late.

“They… they wouldn’t do that!”

“You want to bet? Happens more often than you think.”

“No it doesn’t. You’re just saying that!”

“Maybe they’ll see your little temper and that’s what will do it. Anger leads to the Dark Side, doesn’t it?”

“You take that back!”

“Why? It’s the _truth_.”

The girl snorted out an angry breath, struggling to rise to her feet from her awkward meditation position. If she’d corrected it like he’d told her to, she would have been able to leap to her feet in an instant. “You don’t know anything, you… you… rankweed sucker!”

 “Padawan, that is quite enough!” A loud voice boomed from the doorway.

Both adolescents turned to see the forms of a tall, Togruta Jedi Master and an exasperated SIS Chief in the now-open doorway.

“Are you seriously picking on children now?” Marcus sighed.

“I’m not a child!” The little Padawan boldly insisted. “I am a Jedi!”

“And Jedi do not snap at others or speak with such blatant disrespect,” the Togruta admonished his own charge. “Apologize, _Padawan_.”

Her cheeks somehow reddened further, angry gaze crumpling into a contrite, almost crushed expression. Theron would have felt sorry for the little pipsqueak if she wasn’t so damn annoying. “I apologize for my behavior Chief Trant. It was unbecoming.”

“It’s quite all right,” Marcus said with a hint of a smile, “this laserbrain has a habit of getting under everyone’s skin.”

Theron shot his mentor a withering glare—although apparently Marcus had grown immune to them. That was something he’d have to work on. He needed to be intimidating out in the field if he was going to last more than a day.

“You should also apologize to this young man,” the Togruta said.

“But he—!” She started to protest, but quickly fell silent at a deep frown from her Master. She snorted out an angry breath through her nose, and grudgingly turned to face Theron and ground out, “I am sorry.”

He just quirked an eyebrow in response at her, and she let out a long, irritated breath. He was pretty sure a follow-up insult was on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps something a little more creative than her original one that had started this whole debacle in the first place.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

Her blonde brows gathered together in another angry expression, but before she could lose her temper again the Togruta Jedi laid a hand on her shoulder. With a polite farewell for Marcus, and a final smoldering look from the Padawan, the two departed. And good riddance. If he never saw that little twerp again, it’d be too soon.

“You can’t keep that razor tongue of yours still for five minutes?” Marcus shook his head with a deep sigh.

“She started it.”

“ _Right_. We’re clearly going to need to work on your lying skills before you embarrass me on your entrance exam.”

Theron wrinkled his nose, trying to shove the surge of annoyance back down. “So that means you’ll let me take it early?”

“Not a chance,” Marcus let out a tired laugh. “Right now—you’re going to show me exactly what you did to get past security. And then you’re going to spend the rest of the day fixing all of our coding so no one can do that again.”

It wasn’t field work, but it was _something_. More important work than he’d done riding the circuits on Manaan—although infinitely more boring. Theron let out a long, annoyed breath but gave a defeated nod. “Fine.” 

“You know, if you ever manage to brush that chip off your shoulder, you might make an excellent agent,” Marcus said.

“Your best agent,” Theron countered. “You’ll see.”

He just needed a chance, and he’d show the galaxy what Theron Shan as really made of. Force or no. Until that day came, he’d just have to bide his time on the sidelines.


	22. Bedtime Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future fic. Written for the prompt: “Did I ever tell you about that time I joined a cult?”

“So, did I ever tell you about that time I joined a cult?”

“Theron,” came a tired, sleepy voice from the bed, “that is not an appropriate bed time story.”

“Oh, it’ll be _fine_ ,” he tossed back to his wife, “and besides, I thought you were supposed to be sleeping.”

“Well, I was almost asleep—until you decided to tell our infant son about the worst train ride of my life.”

“I’m not telling him about _that_ cult,” he assured his wife. 

“ _That_ cult? Exactly how many cults have you joined?”

Theron gave that question some thought as he continued to slowly sway, rocking the tiny form in his arms that blinked up at his father with wide, blue attentive eyes. He wondered exactly what point he’d grow tired of that sight, but even sleep deprived and frazzled, it still had a tendency to make the rest of the world fade away. Darn kid was just like his mother.

“Theron?”

“Oh, sorry,” he murmured, “I was trying to count in my head.”

“Are you telling me you’ve _lost count_ of how many cults you’ve joined?” He heard a rustling as she sat up in bed.

“Well now I’m trying to think of an answer to that question that isn’t weird.”

“The normal answer is zero cults,” she reminded him.

“And yet you still married me,” he shot a grin back at her in the dark. “What does that say about you?”

“That I have an endless well of patience and understanding?”

“Nah, I know that’s not it.” He added a light bounce to his rocking as the bundle in his arms started to get fidgety. “Now can I tell my story? The natives are growing restless.”

“Can’t you pick something more age appropriate?”

“But he likes hearing about his papa’s adventures,” Theron crooned. “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

The infant let out a happy gurgle in reply, and Theron couldn’t help but give the little guy a wide smile. From the bed, he heard a tired, but disgruntled harrumph.

“He never makes that noise for me.” She sounded a little offended. “I’m the one that feeds him and yet he still likes you better.”

“It’s a guy thing,” he said, not breaking his sway. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I’m too tired to think of a proper response to that.”

“Then maybe you should go back to sleep,” he said. “I’ve got this covered.”

“Fine, but try not to give him nightmares.”

“Nah, he’ll love the story. It’s got a goat in it,” he assured her. “Kids like animals, right?”

There was some more rustling from the bed as she settled back into place. He thought he heard a tired mutter about him being impossible, but he shrugged it off and instead addressed his enraptured audience.

“Now, where was I? Oh yeah, a long, long time ago, your dad had a no good, terrible blackmailing partner in the SIS, also known as your Uncle Jonas. And Uncle Jonas had a tendency to think up really stupid plans…”


	23. Snow Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Playing outside in the snow

In some ways, it was still odd for him, staying in one place.

For almost his entire life, Theron had been on the move. He’d only really stayed on a planet just long enough for a mission, or whatever thrill he was chasing. Coruscant was probably the one planet he’d been on the longest consecutively spent the longest amount of time on, and thanks to the WeatherNet, the ecumenopolis wasn’t exactly known for its wild and erratic weather. While he was still on the move a lot for the Alliance, he was starting to get… _acclimated_ to Odessen.

He’d noticed a certain crispness to the air when he’d returned from the Mestani sector, been taken aback by the sudden rush of color in the valley beyond the base. Reds and oranges dotting the landscape where they hadn’t been crowded out by the evergreens. The feeling it stirred in him was strange, but he did his best to ignore it. He had a job to do, and it wasn’t like the changing of the seasons was something new and noteworthy. It was just weather after all, the same that happened on just about every planet in the galaxy that wasn’t dominated by deserts or frozen wasteland.

So when he walked outside one morning a few months later to a blanket of white covering everything, he’d meant to shrug it off. It had gotten just cold enough where the snow freely stuck to the ground, and trees, and everything in between, but it wasn’t frigid and miserable like Hoth.

He caught sight of Vette, bundled up in particularly thick coat and an oversized scarf over near the cantina. Their self-appointed morale officer seemed to be organizing the more carefree spirits into some sort of snow sculpture contest. He spotted more than a few others wandering around with thermoses and cheeks just a _little_ redder than the cold weather called for.

He was intent on continuing his search for caf — but found himself distracted from that when he spied a familiar figure overlooking the valley below. He altered his course, coming up stand next to the blonde Jedi. She shifted at his approach, the stiff pose relaxing as he settled into her space.

“So, this is where you went,” Theron commented quietly. “Was a little surprised when I didn’t find you meditating this morning.”

“I thought that I might make an exception to my daily routine to enjoy the view,” Grey replied simply, shooting him the hints of a smile in greeting.

“Come on, you’ve seen plenty of snow in your time,” he said lightly. “What makes this so special?”

Her smile flickered, brows drawing together into an inscrutable expression. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be exasperation or contemplation, but something about it let him know he’d misstepped conversationally. She remained quiet for a few moments, subtly shifting her stance again. A little more guarded, a little less open than when he’d arrived.

“When you put it that way, I suppose it is not particularly special,” she said quietly. “It is not the first snowfall Odessen has seen, just the first one we’ve witnessed since arriving.”

He moved in a little closer, the edge of his jacket brushing against the large ornate pauldrons of her armor. She’d been out in the weather long enough for him to feel that the chill had seeped into them, even through his jacket. If he took a few extra moments to notice, her hair was lightly dusted with the soft snowfall, and her ears and nose were sporting a bright pink, indicating she had been out here for a little bit. He felt the cold air nipping at his own ears, the uncomfortable sensation just adding another reason to return indoors.

“You know it’s freezing out here,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets, subconsciously rocking on his heels.

“I suppose it might be,” she admitted.

“I was just on my way to grab some caf.” He tipped his head, past the snow sculptors, and towards the direction of the mess hall. “You want to come grab some?”

Her smile briefly flickered back, not at him, but at the revelers in the snow, before shaking her head. “I might grab some later — right now I think I’ll stay here a little longer.”

He tried to suppress the frown and disappointment at the polite rebuff, and shrugged his shoulders without removing his hands from his pockets. The action probably made him resemble a pouting ten-year-old, especially as he began to slink off towards the mess hall. Snow crunched under his boots, and he could feel some of the flurries settling into his hair, catching on the carefully coiffed spikes.

He petulantly kicked at one of the larger piles of snow in front of him, sending up a white cloud of snow into his path. He paused to let the wind sweep it away, also carrying with it the happy chatter and laughter of the wintry revelers around him. That funny feeling from before swept over him, and he couldn’t help but turn around for one brief look back.

Grey hadn’t moved from her perch, arms once again tucked neatly behind her back as if standing formally and waiting for inspection. The image of perfect Jedi contemplation was ruined by the fact that she had tipped her head up to the sky, the hints of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as a large flake drifted down and landed delicately on the tip of her nose.

He blinked, feeling something in his chest tighten a fraction, just enough to distract him from his goal of caffeine. Without much of a thought, he pulled his hands from his pocket, absently reaching out. Several small flurries landed on his upturned palm, melting almost immediately on contact with his glove. A few more landed and melted away as he stared, at his own palm and at the lone figure beyond, before he began shuffling again, back in the direction he’d come.

She was startled out of her quiet contemplation, giving him a puzzled look as he took up his position next to her again.

“I thought you were going inside.”

“Changed my mind,” he said with a shrug.

She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, and he unconsciously mimicked the action. To distract from that he again reached his hand out to the falling flurries. A large snowflake began to land on it, but stopped a few millimeters above his palm. Despite the wind and the prevailing laws of gravity, it continued to hover there. It took him a few dumbfounded moments of wonder before he looked up to see a wide, almost delighted smile on his companion’s face.

He briefly thought about teasing her about what was clearly not an appropriate use of the Force, but found he had a better idea. “Exactly how many of those can you hold at once?”

Her smile somehow seemed to grow wider. “Why don’t we find out?”

* * *

 

By the time Vette and their sculptors looked up from their own icy masterpieces, the two figures at the edge of the overlook were nearly obscured in a small sphere of suspended snowflakes. Vette looked at the almost life-sized snowglobe, and then back at the Snow Twi’lek she’d been painstakingly constructing over the past hour.

“Show off,” she muttered.


	24. Disguises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

When the holo shimmered to life, Theron nearly choked on his cup of caf. Lana glanced up from her datapad, arching one delicate brow, but he was too busy trying to form words to respond. Partially due to his now burned tongue, but mostly due to the spectacle he was witnessing on the other end of the call. 

After a moment, he finally managed to croak out hoarsely. “What are you _wearing_?”

“You told me I should blend in,” came the confused reply from the extra that had clearly escaped some cheesy historical holodrama, “get into character.”

“I meant as the bloodthirsty pirate leader of the Red Hulls,” he shot back, “not…”

He waved a hand helplessly, at a loss for words. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Lana setting her datapad down, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

While their operative’s holographic form was bathed in blue light, a few muted colors on the long frock coat that Grey had acquired could still be made out. Most of it looked to be some shade of red, accented with splashes of black. The notched collar looked to be lined with crushed velvet and bolted durasteel at the tips. Underneath it all she wore some kind of armored vest, with a ratty black sash tying the whole thing together. Topping off the ensemble was a single black eyepatch that Theron was pretty sure was going to be far more of a hindrance than _help_ in any way with combat.

“Do I not look enough like a pirate?” The Jedi frowned, examining her ensemble closer. “Doc suggested a gilded flutterplume for my shoulder. But I thought that might be a bit much.”

Theron directed a glare at the medic that was standing behind the Jedi, outfitted in his own getup that was only slightly less ridiculous. Sadly, the action probably lost some of its sting over the flickering holocall. “ _That_ was a bit much?”

“Nothing says cannibalistic pirate like a trained attack bird!” Doc added helpfully, a shit-eating grin spreading widely across his face. “Go big or go home, right?”

Grey frowned. “I also had to factor in the ethical considerations of bringing an innocent animal into battle. It did not seem wise.”

“Oh, I’m glad you thought this through!” Theron sputtered.

“Of course.” She tilted her head at him quizzically. “You said I should look ‘as little like a Jedi as humanly possible’ so as not to tip off the Revanites to our presence. I assumed that meant a proper disguise was in order.”

A high-pitched giggle drew both of their attention, and Theron leveled his glare at the snickering Sith.

“What?” Lana’s eyes danced with mirth. “I think it’s cute.”

“She’s supposed to be a _deadly cannibal_ ,” Theron reminded, “not ‘cute’.”

“You would be surprised at how often those two things can coincide.”

Theron opened his mouth to reply, then immediately thought better of it. “You know what? I do _not_ want to know.”

“I have stories,” Lana said.

“I don’t _care_ ,” he said emphatically.

“Honestly, Theron, you should lighten up. After all, weren’t you the one that initially suggested this whole cannibal—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” he interrupted loudly before she could finish that thought, pointedly turning back to the ridiculous pair on the other end of the holocall, “I think the Nova Blades are busy enough with the chaos you and Jakarro wreaked on their supply stashes.”

“Just like a pirate,” Lana put in helpfully, earning herself a baleful glare from Theron, and a proud smile from Grey.

“Yes, appropriately piratey,” he said begrudgingly, “but you’ve got an opportunity while they’re… preoccupied. If my sources are correct, there’s a Nova Blade lieutenant in charge there, guy named Donovarr. Might prove to have useful intel if you can get him to talk. Just try to stay in-character, all right?”

“Yarr,” the Jedi growled, slipping into a fake accent, “I’ll find the lily-livered cur and make him squeal. If he doesn’t, I’ll split open his gut with me lightsabers and feed him his entrails!”

Theron’s mouth flopped open. Behind him he heard an indignant snort, and on the far end of the call Doc had nearly doubled over, guffawing loudly.

The woman on the other end peered back at him innocently. “Was that bloodthirsty enough?”

Lana spun around, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, but Theron felt a headache coming on. He resisted the urge to rub at the sudden pounding in his temples and fixed his operative with what he hoped was a neutral expression. “Maybe drop the accent?”

“If you think that’s best,” Grey replied sweetly.

When this was all over, Theron was going to find the tallest bottle of whiskey on this backwater planet and down the entire thing in one go. And he wasn’t sharing with any smartass Jedi, Sith, Wookiees, or medics.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said flatly, before abruptly ending the call.

“You have to admit, she _did_ take your advice,” Lana managed through her sniggering. “Even if the execution was a little bit… unorthodox.”

“I admit nothing,” he grumbled.

“Of course not.” To her credit, Lana seemed to resist rolling her eyes at him. “But you were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your suggestion to add the cannibalistic aspect to her cover story _has_ been hysterical. In so many ways.”

He fixed her with a look, but she just mirrored the sweet, innocent expression that their fake pirate had used at the tail end of the holocall. With a muttered curse, Theron trudged back over to the data terminal, picking back where he left off on planting the false trail to secure the cover story for the Red Hulls. Now he had to go back and revise some of his work, making sure to include _eyepatches_ into his description of the bloodthirsty pirate leader. Next time he came up with a cover for the woman, apparently he was going to have to be very detailed on the dress code. 

Damn Jedi was going to be the death of him.


End file.
